Why It Feels So Damn Good to Laugh at a Funeral

When my brother died too young, an unexpected dark joke helped my family deal with the grief.

Illustration by Molly Walsh

A couple of days after my brother died, my mom, my sister and I were in our living room making arrangements for the wake. We decided to create picture collages of my brother on three huge poster boards. We only had one of three posters finished – it was propped up on a wooden chair in the dining room, facing us as we sat in the living room. My mom was pacing while talking on the phone with one of her friends who was going to lead the funeral. My sister was keeping busy at our coffee table. I sat on our huge green sofa, zoning out, feeling completely emotionless and empty. I was in a state of catatonic shock – occasionally tears would overwhelm me, but I couldn’t yet grasp what they were for.

The dull hum of my brain tuned out my mom’s words as she spoke on the phone. My cloudy eyes stared straight ahead as she paced. I finally caught on to her conversation when she said my name. She was talking about the posters we were making.

“Yup,” she said. “One down, two …