God’s Sense of Humor

On the outside looking in, one might think humor and grief don’t mix. As it turns out, the opposite can be true. Maybe it’s because once visited, the dark side has left us with such limited options that humor becomes one of our last remaining connections to humanity. The peal of laughter over a shared joke serving as a small vessel of warmth in an otherwise cold and desolate world…

        For those who know us well, it’s no secret our family loves humor. So we were some of the first to join the bandwagon when Austin Powers hit theaters in the late 90’s. Forever changing the landscape of comedy, anyone who’s seen this classic knows that it comes with a number of memorable phrases. One of the more popular of these was “mini-me”, and in a time long before memes were a thing, society somehow managed a shared fascination with this new term. Through some unspoken and unofficial agreement it took on a life of its own becoming an endearing descriptor of children with a strong resemblance to a parent or close relative. Four years later we would find this to be particularly relevant. Faced with a baby born with a shock of red fuzzy hair, we found ourselves temporarily bewildered. But one quick look at that beautiful little face and any “milkman” jokes that may have been forthcoming were immediately tossed. The Tippett gene had staked its claim and Sean officially had his very own “mini-me”.

      But as time moved on, another resemblance began to slowly take shape. Initially more subtle, it was harder to detect. First it was the self-soothing rocking motion. This habit my baby daughter was now unconsciously practicing during our drives to the store is one that brought back long-buried memories. Memories of car rides sharing a backseat with a similar self-soother and always guaranteed to end in a fight. Next came Londyn’s sudden interest in fashion, a trait she developed from a very young age insisting as early as kindergarten to dress herself and doing so with admiral flair. Then it was the noise sensitivity, the slightest smacking, grunt, sneeze or uninvited breakout into song that didn’t agree to her ear buds would drive her into a furry until the offender became suitably quiet again. Her obsession with shopping, her strong writing talent, her incredible eye for beauty when taking pictures and her overall demeanor… It suddenly struck me, God had gifted me with a mini-me version of my sister!

       This twist of fate, or as we liked to jokingly refer to it as “God’s sense of humor”, would turn out to be a blessing as Londyn began to tackle her teenage years. As our personalities became ever more polarizing, battles were constant and peace was a rarity. It’s through these incredibly challenging years that her Aunt Angie became a beacon of hope. A mediator and voice of reason, only one of a few Londyn would listen to, my sister often helped fill a critical “second mother” role of sorts. Although I envied this relationship, and even felt a bit left out at times, I was extremely grateful for it all the same. And my own personal past assured me there would be plenty of future to mend our relationship.

        As fate would have it, not long after Londyn went off to college she started FaceTime-ing me, often on a daily or twice-daily basis. These last weeks and years in which I became reacquainted with my daughter are now memories more precious to me than gold. And with her relationship with Angie ever strong, we looked forward to the adventures we three females would share. A future I am now constantly reminded has been yanked away, not just from me, but from my sister as well.

        There’s a truth about grief I’ve observed in these last couple of years. A dark humor of sorts that often those in our lives, those even a single degree removed, may not feel they have the right to lay claim to their own grief. Sitting on the sidelines, these individuals hold their own tattered hearts close to the chest in silent observation, allowing those of us with direct claim to fall to pieces. They stand stoic while providing support of the very kind they themselves so desperately need and the acknowledgment they too deserve.

        I often write my blogs with the goal to shed light and maybe even a bit of advice to those on the outside looking in. But this time I find myself sharing this tip with our residents of grief. It may sound funny and even feel a little silly but this is no joke.  I’ve discovered we must give a permit to those we observe are being sidelined. Grief is not a thing to be owned, it’s a gift to be shared. It’s the price we pay for love, and all who have travelled through its deepest tunnels should feel comfortable in laying claim to it.

         I’ve always admired and looked up to my sister. Although younger she has always carried a wisdom about her that would turn out to be the missing piece I so desperately needed when raising a daughter. This in turn would foster a love between niece and aunt like the world has never seen. Although I’ve often shared this with those closest to me I want to remove any doubt, Angie lost a daughter too that day.

          You know what the really funny thing is? I see glimpses of Londyn in my sister even now. Yes, yes, I know that’s not how it works. Angie was here long before her, and its Angie’s traits Londyn emulated. But a laugh here, or a smirk there, a certain twinkle in her eye when crafting the perfect story, it’s a whole new gift just the same. Turns out maybe God truly has a great sense of humor, and just maybe knows what he’s doing after all.