It Is Possible to Laugh Again

It is possible to laugh again.

Lastnight, I shared a warm bonfire with friends and laughed, and laughed and then laughed some more. It was the kind of laughter that makes you laugh later, just thinking about it. I guess this is not all that unusual; people get together with friends all of the time and laugh. I guess I forgot along the way at some point this year as to how to laugh like that.

The 4th Annual retreat for people who have lost a loved one to suicide was yesterday. I came up with the idea of the retreat four years ago after having great experiences with a retreat when I had breast cancer. I wanted to share that experience with people who also knew what it was like to carry around the loss of a loved one to suicide.

I think about this retreat all year long. I think about activities for participants, things that I think will be good for them, help them to heal. And, every year, I realize when I look around the retreat center, and notice groups of two or three talking and listening intently to one another, that no real activities are needed. People know what to do when they have the space to do it. It is a really beautiful thing to see.

I sat on the porch of a Yurt, a round-shaped building that is situated on the acreage of the retreat center. I felt the warm sun on my face, and sat next to another woman who was grieving the death of her beloved husband. She wrote quietly, very intently in a journal. Nearby, another survivor sat under a shade tree. This survivor was the first one I met in this group, and her strength and honesty gave me a glimpse of the possibility of hope. A husband and wife, who will always be a mother and father of a their first born who died, walked down a path, through a meadow, hand in hand. I heard in the distance the laughter of kids, who were once strangers and then became fast friends. I watched them running and giggling.

Asking anyone to stop what they were doing, to do what I thought would be helpful seemed really dumb. They were doing what they needed to do, and they knew how to do it all along. All I did was give them the opportunity to do so.

We washed dishes and chopped peppers and boiled pasta and buttered bread and sipped wine together. We lit candles and cried as we said the names of our loved ones. It was a really amazing experience. And, in the background, I imagined our loved ones watching us and smiling.

I had forgotten how to laugh and yesterday, I remembered how.