I was talking to my Biff the other day and she told me about some bitch in her life that makes a big deal over really stupid things as if she were still in high school.

I said it sounds like she has a good ol’ case of arrested development (the psychology, not the TV show or the hip hop group with the best, worst song lyric of all time – A GAME OF HORSESHOESSSS!!)

She disagreed. She said it’s because this bitch has never experienced any true loss in her life and because of this, she focuses on ridiculous bullshit.

It got me thinking that I’ve never really experienced any big losses either. (I almost deleted that last sentence because I’m a firm believer in jinxing yourself but I wanted to continue with my story, so I knocked on wood and prayed I didn’t just put the mallochio on myself or my family.)

Of course my grandparents and my pets have died, but that was through the natural progression of life. I’ve yet to experience a death that has turned my entire world upside down and sent me through the stages of grief. I have, however, seen it up close and personal through many people that I love and it scares the shit out of me.

I actually think about it a lot. And because I believe in examining your feelings instead of pushing them down and forgetting about them, it has produced a very strange take on death and grief for me.

Let me back up. My Pa has always had a bizarre take on death. Like, a sense of humor regarding it.

For instance, he’s had a coupon for cremation on his refrigerator for about 8 years now and wonders if they will still honor it when he dies. He recently told me he’s going to insist upon it. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he won’t be able to because he’ll be dead. (Don’t worry Pa, I will fight for you and your cheapness!!)

Ever since my parents moved to NC 14 years ago, they’ve said this is the last home they’d ever live in. Pa’s favorite line is, “Yep, it’s bed to the burner from here!” (I’ve thought about offering that tagline to our local funeral home. I have a degree in Marketing and I know a winner when I see one!)

It took a while for Lol to come around to Pa’s death humor. To her and her Italian background – you know, the kind that insists women wear black for an entire year after someone dies – you don’t joke about death. While Pa was laughing away about kickin’ the bucket, I’d see her little baby goo-goo hands (she’s tiny like a little baby) making devil horns (see mallochia above) and spitting on the ground to chase the evil spirits away. But recently I saw her actually crack a smile while we were joking about it.

Here’s why:

I got a pool this summer. What most likely started as a small remark, has now morphed into a full plan of how we’re going to send Pa off should he croak while I’m still living in this house. It will be a spectacular event involving pool floats and a funeral pyre. To save money (because I really don’t think they’ll honor that 8 year old coupon) we’re going to put the rest of him in our fire pit and PJ will vacuum him up with our shop vac. Then because my brother-in-law Christian has a history of blowing up barbecues, he’s going to take Pa’s ashes, put them on the bbq and blow them up into the sky. Pa told the kids that they have to learn the words to Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire and Lol has to sing Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash while my sons play their trombones.

Ok by now you think me and my family are completely off our rockers, and it’s true, but death is scary, and sad, and horrifying if it happens outside the natural progression of life. But isn’t it better to laugh if you can?

Sometimes I find myself wondering if it’s true that you must acknowledge and complete the stages of grief to finally get back to living a normal life. I wonder if I could be an anomaly that takes a different, lighthearted approach instead of grief. My conclusion is always no.

Even though I’ve yet to experience a big loss, I already know how much it’s going to hurt. But since I also feel that humor can help any situation, I’m thankful that Pa has such a sick sense of humor, that when I eventually do cross that bridge, I can weave those moments of sadness with some big laughs.