Can Humor Really Be Preventative Medicine?
My late husband’s favorite uncle, Uncle Chuck, spent the last two years of his life battling ALS, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. At the time, I didn’t know much about the disease, but googling it told me much more than I ever wanted to know. I learned that, as the disease progresses, the body loses its ability to function, with muscles gradually giving up, until one can no longer breathe. But the mind often stays sharp. And fully aware of what is going on.
That sounds like pure hell to me. As I contemplated Uncle Chuck’s challenge, I wondered how I would cope if the same thing happened to me. I remember thinking that I would like to store up good memories, and keep them there, and pull them out to enjoy when I needed them to help get through the pain and indignity of losing my own body functions.
I don’t know how Uncle Chuck dealt with his situation. But he was one of the most cheerful and positive people I have ever known. I like to think that he got through those last months by thinking about the good things he had experienced in his life. I hope so, anyway. He certainly made an impact on many people. Years ago, my husband, Tim, told me that, when times were tough for his family, his Uncle Chuck was the one who made sure that Christmas wishes were granted. And I remember many picnics at the family farm when Chuck made sure everyone—even strangers - felt welcome. He was the type of person who would give you the shirt off his back—or, more likely, his last beer. I do hope his last days were spent remembering all that was good in his life, and the lives he made better.
Betty White, in her book, Betty White In Person, explains: “Beverly Sills’s mother was being interviewed one time about her famous opera star daughter, and I have always loved her response to a question about Beverly’s life offstage. She said, ‘Beverly isn’t always happy, but she always cheerful.’ It’s a good point of view, and makes life a lot more pleasant …” (p. 100).
While the pain of grief is not the same thing as the pain of disease, is it possible to apply the same type of antidote? Can those of us who grieve use humor to help alleviate some of the pain? Is it possible to keep humor in the back pocket, as “preventative “medicine” for those times when life without a loved one doesn’t feel so good?
I’ve found that preparing for tough times with humor does, indeed, help. In my book, Grab Life by the Bungees and 50+ Other Ways to Find Humor, Hope, and Happiness After Your Partner Has Died, you can find out a few ways to use humor and positivity to get through the tough times that grief brings. You can learn to turn off that ugly, negative “chatter” in your head, and use good memories, jokes, or funny books to help you get through the tough times. I’m not minimizing the pain of grief. I know very well how real it is and how important it is to nurture your pain. I also know how imperative it is to allow your brain to take a break from grief, even if for just a moment or two. I’m a firm believer that pain can—and should—be managed, so that it doesn’t rule your life.
For example, in Chapter 2, I describe how my husband, Tim, was the photographer in our family. When our sons were young, he took pictures of every vacation, every family event—well, just about everything. Whenever Tim announced that it was time for a photo, we reluctantly lined up for it. More than once, our boys heard from their father, “OK, everybody, look at me. And smile, dammit!”
So, I ask you to try it. Every morning, just stand in front of the mirror and smile, dammit! Give yourself a big grin, even if you don’t feel like smiling (and perhaps especially if you don’t feel like smiling). You may be surprised at how much better it makes you feel to see your own smile looking back at you. I tried this trick as a daily ritual, first thing every morning. I did a couple of armband stretches in front of the mirror, and forced myself to smile while doing so. Five years later, I’ve kept this routine and am surprised at how much better I feel after two minutes of stretching with a smile. At the very least, I’m getting some exercising done.
In The Laughing Cure (2016), Brian King explains the James-Lange theory of psychology, which is the idea that the human body informs the brain about its emotion, and the act of smiling actually triggers our brains to make us feel good, rather than the other way around. In other words, “. . . we aren’t laughing because we are happy, we’re happy because we’re laughing . . . smiling and laughing make us happy or, to state it more scientifically, increase our experience of positive affect” (p. 6).
I’m not saying grief should be ignored. But there’s a difference between feeling your loss and managing the pain of your loss. And I do believe that life feels better when I’m laughing—or maybe just smiling for a tiny bit. I hope you can, too.
References
King, B. (2016). The laughing cure: Emotional and physical healing --- A comedian reveals why laughter really is the best medicine. New York: Skyhorse Publishing.
White, B. (1987). Betty White in person. New York: Doubleday.
