The Day I Got My Humor Back

Soon after Valentine’s Day, I realized something else was missing in my life: my sense of humor. My mind had always worked overtime to rapidly release comedic interjections and see the humor in life’s many absurdities. “Witty and sarcastic” was how people often described me. Now these descriptions, along with my sense of humor had vanished, completely changing my perspective, and how I was perceived. With the exception of my recent Paramount bathroom incident, I had endured nine months of grieving without cracking a joke, laughing out loud, or seeing anything anymore as comedic. I feared it would never come back and that my whiteboard would never see those descriptive words again.

     Then, it arrived. A small glimpse of humor via a very unlikely messenger: a belated Valentine’s Day card. It arrived late, one day after Valentine’s Day and exactly one week after the celebration. A seemingly innocent, cheerful pink envelope from a producer who worked with Joe at Paramount. I remember the sadness he felt when she left the industry to move her family out of state, but the bond they created kept them in touch through cards and email correspondence throughout the years. Looking at her name on the outside of the envelope, I immediately thought, “Condolence card” and a possible apology for not being able to attend Joe’s celebration of life event. If only. It was their yearly family Valentine’s Day card complete with a beautiful photo of three joyous kids laughing on the front and the following note handwritten inside:

     “Hope you guys are doing great! I wish I could have come to Joe’s party. I’m sure it was fabulous! It would have been fun to have been back with Joe at Paramount!”

     Oh, dear. This was not what I was expecting.

     How could this happen? How does she not know?

     I remember being blindsided by a friend a few months after Joe’s death in the parking lot of Trader Joe’s. Hearing my name, I looked up into a familiar face holding such joy at running into a friend who had seemingly fallen off the grid. Her smiling face confronting mine: a face that painted a much different story. She could tell immediately there was something seriously wrong. Through instantaneous sobbing and difficulty saying the words, I told her Joe had recently died of pancreatic cancer. I watched, as a gradual shape-shifting of her once joyous face turned to disbelief and despair followed by an outpouring of tears and condolences. Slow-motion sorrow I would have to witness. Sympathy I could not control. Feeling as if reliving the news all over again.

     Numerous emails, calls, and letters flowed in for months after Joe’s death from people who didn’t know or hadn’t been told. The correspondence seemed never-ending. I tried to answer some of the emails and calls but decided it would be best to pass the baton to someone else to carry. The emotional shock and outpouring that came from the unsuspecting recipient on the other end was too much to take. I no longer wanted to be the messenger or bearer of this horrible news. This one had slipped through the cracks.

     Nine months later, when the cards, calls, and emails finally slowed down, this Valentine lands in my mailbox. Her name rang a bell, as there were a few questionable recipients sent invitations to the memorial service that I was not 100% sure had heard the news. Three names, to be exact, that I remembered looking at and wondering if I should have my villagers call in advance of sending. With the rush of getting the invitations out on time and the number of calls I had already asked of them to make on my behalf, I reluctantly decided just to let it be. I’d rather they not find out this way, but did not have the energy or wherewithal to figure it out. I had been at least 1/3 correct in my assumption. Two of them already knew. She obviously did not.

     Time to figure out some post-celebration due diligence. I started by trying to figure out the best person to tell her the news. Should I ask Maureen to make another call? Or find a mutual friend from Paramount to do it? Was I far enough away from it to be able to make the call myself? It would need to be handled delicately being a double whammy for her finding out that, not only did someone dear to her die but that she had also sent a very joyous note to a grieving widow mistaking a funeral for a reunion party. She had unknowingly committed a rather serious memorial faux pas.

     How could this happen?

     I realized that the invitation, just like the entire event, was very non-traditional and possibly misleading. From the invitation’s front image of Joe in a vintage TV set, with Lucille Ball holding a sign “We’ll Miss Ya Joe” on top, surrounded by red velvet cake and bubble-dot graphics, I could maybe see how the misunderstanding occurred. But the invitation so very clearly said “memorial”– albeit used sparingly — to describe the event.

     Or did it?

     I panicked. Did I use the word memorial on the invitation? I couldn’t remember and found myself scrambling through the office, searching for one of the invites to check my wording. Pulling an extra card from its bright turquoise envelope, I saw it plain and clear, “Please join us in a special memorial event to celebrate the life of Joe LoCicero.” Nope. It was there and could only mean one thing. I was already on edge with feelings of insanity. Her innocent mistake did not help. I started to obsess and then get upset with her mistake. How could she think this was an invite for a party when “A SPECIAL MEMORIAL EVENT” was emblazoned on the front? It wasn’t a multi-page document with tons of copy to scroll through – just a simple, colorful, two-sided invitation — to a celebration of life. What else could that mean? With my emotions now swirling, I decided I would call Maureen and try not to dwell on it anymore. It almost worked, until later that evening when I began thinking about it again. In the shower trying to unwind and escape the stressors of the day, I began thinking about the sentiment in her card, how “it would have been fun to be back with Joe at Paramount.”

     Yes, it would have.

     The sheer ridiculousness of the situation initiated an ever so slight smirk on my face. That was the spark. My mind started imagining all the possible “What Ifs…” playing out different scenarios and endings like well-crafted scenes from a very dark comedy. What if she didn’t live 1900 miles away, but instead was still in Bel Air and had arrived with congratulatory gift in hand. At what point would she realize what was actually going on? I began to laugh. I knew this was a sick way to look at the situation, but could not stop generating these comedic thoughts. She most likely would have no clue of the intensity of the event walking into the grand foyer of the Paramount Theatre decorated with the magnificent marigold roses and chartreuse and tangerine colored balloons. Friends scurrying about prepping tables of red velvet cupcakes ready for decorating could have been easily mistaken for a reunion. Possibly the Kleenex tissues packs being handed out at the door would have given a clue to a different kind of event inside but what if she was running a tad bit late? Maybe she’d miss my tearful speech at the beginning and enter during one of the more humorous stories about Joe. Adding even more fuel to my building hysterical fire, I began envisioning the many various friends she might end up sitting next to and what each one’s reactions would be to her leaning over and innocently asking, “Have you seen Joe?” Or better yet, getting up on stage to speak about him, thinking it was an open mic situation, and ending by looking out saying, “Now where is the man of the hour?” Oh, the many possibilities. So many were filling my thoughts. And then finally… imagining her over-the-top, sitcom-style reaction — the noises, sounds and unfortunate scene that would ensue after she found out she was attending Joe’s Celebration of Life, not his Paramount homecoming. These awful and horrible thoughts, all at her expense, sparked intense and much needed therapeutic laughter. As I leaned into the glass of the shower wall, clutching my side while tears of laughter graced my wet face, I had one final ending thought:

     Thank god! My humor is back.

     After my moment of humor had passed and I finally stopped laughing, I realized how thankful I was for this innocent mistake and the incredible gift she had unknowingly given me. Thinking about Joe, and what he would have thought of all this, another gift filled my heart and mind. Softly at first, but then in full guffaw, I could hear in my head Joey’s infectious laughter followed by his voice saying one of his very favorite lines, “Oh dear, bless her heart.” Bless her heart, indeed.

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