Good and Loud

I enjoy other people’s laughter almost as much as I enjoy laughing myself. In fact more often than not, the laughter of someone else will pop the cap on mine and I get a free ride.

When George finds something truly funny, he has the most infectuous laugh I have ever encountered and it’s always enjoyed by our friends and family. If he’s trying to tell a story that he finds exceptionally funny his face turns beet red and pinches up in a contorted jigsaw puzzle of unrecognizable features, with tears escaping from the crevices where his eyes are buried. He literally cannot speak when this happens, yet his mouth opens and closes with the effort to do so – the end result being a series of small piglike grunts.

The entire room, whether one or twenty, will be caught up in hysterical laughter without ever hearing what it is he is trying to say. When he finally does get his story or joke out, it’s anticlimactic – his hysteria having already coaxed the bellylaughs from the audience.

Thinking of my aunt’s approaching birthday this morning led me to these laughing thoughts. She owns another unforgettable laugh and the thread of it winds back to the beginnings of my memory. Hers is a big, mouth wide open, teeth shining, head thrown back, good and loud belly laugh. She doesn’t have another one in her bag – why should she?

For more subdued expression she has a magical giggle which is a cross between tinkling windchimes and the undulation of harpstrings. It doesn’t seem to begin or end because it presents itself and then exits with a monotone of sound level, as if you tapped into a continuum and eavesdropped for just a moment.

I can’t think of my aunt without thinking of her laughter…it’s that much of a constant with her. She finds the humor in all situations, wrings it out and rides it for all its worth.

She possesses many characteristics which contribute to making her larger than life. She never just tells you that she loves you, she always tells you why and what you have meant to her in her life. It is impossible for her to be halfway about anything and you find yourself checking for cracked ribs after being on the receiving end of one of her bear hugs.

The first time she held my son, she looked adoringly at his face and then up at me and with tears on her cheeks said: “Oh, P, he’s part of you. She has always had a way of making me feel special.

My aunt has Alzheimers now and can’t remember much that goes on from day to day. She began to lose her way home in the car a few years ago so her world has become smaller and she feels insecure if my uncle is out of her sight for very long. Her personality has changed slightly. She recently proclaimed she is vegeterian and her two sisters have to force her to go with them to shop for clothes to wear. My uncle loves her and devotes his life to caring for her and, strange as it may sound, she has a good life.

She remembers the day I was born and the birth of her three daughters. She remembers every single thing of significance in her life. She just can’t remember where the kitchen is. In a recent phone conversation she told me that her youngest daughter and her family were in town for a visit. I asked how long they would be there and she replied: “Oh, I can’t remember – I can’t remember anything anymore. The good thing about that is…I can’t remember anything long enough to worry about it”.

Through the phone lines I could see her mouth wide open, teeth shining and head thrown back as my own laughter mingled with hers…good and loud.