If Life Had a Laugh Track, This Part Would Be Silent

 I thought aging gracefully was something people did in yoga pants with green smoothies. Turns out, it’s also watching your grandparents slowly swap their car keys for reading glasses the size of dinner plates.

I always thought grandparents were immortal. Like, they survived the Great Depression and raising our parents — surely they could survive anything, right? Turns out, aging doesn’t work like that.

My Nana now weighs 74 pounds. Seventy. Four. That’s basically the same weight as a golden retriever. And she can’t see or hear anymore, which means every conversation with her now sounds like I’m yelling into a void while she nods politely, probably assuming I just said something about the weather.

And then there’s my other grandma. Early-onset Alzheimer’s. The words alone feel like someone dropped a piano on my chest. She’s still here, but sometimes it feels like she’s fading in and out, like a TV with bad reception. And the thought of losing either of them — maybe both, maybe soon — is absolutely gut-wrenching.

Here’s the thing: I don’t know how to process it. So instead, my brain does what it always does when it’s overwhelmed: serves up dark humor like it’s a defense mechanism on steroids. Because sometimes laughing at the absurdity of life is the only thing keeping me from ugly-crying in the produce aisle at Walmart.

I mean, nothing prepares you for the moment you realize the people who taught you how to tie your shoes, cook pancakes, and sneak chips and dip before dinner are suddenly… breakable. Fragile in a way you didn’t think was possible. It’s terrifying. And heartbreaking.

But here’s what I’m learning: love and grief are two sides of the same coin. The deeper you love, the harder it hits when things start to fall apart. And maybe the best we can do — the only thing, really — is hold on tight, love them loud, and find the humor where we can. Because if life insists on being this cruel sometimes, the least we can do is laugh in its face.

Turns out, love makes us soft and sarcasm makes it survivable. Guess I’m clinging to both


S&S

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