It's Laurel our sixteen year old, precocious, maybe-I-can-work-you-in-my-schedule but maybe not, dynamo of a social butterfly.
We're sitting on the sofa as the rest of the family spread out to enjoy their gifts and have some alone time after the craziness of family exchanging gifts.
"Well," I answer, already grinning, "then I'm just gonna have to live another year just so you have to buy me good presents again."
"That's the plan," she deadpans.
I burst out laughing.
"You really killed it that time!"
"Slaughtered it," she grins.
Laurel's the only one who laughs with me at Cancer while the rest of our family takes it very seriously, especially Sarah who takes dead aim at anything that may even remotely jeopardize my health.
Doctor's orders often takes life a little bit at a time so you can extend your stay even if it cost you joy.
That's not how we want to live!
Living's finding joy and love and immersing yourself in them regardless of where they take you, stopping often enough to appreciate what it takes to know what you've been given.
Sarah and I are finding joy again, inside the colliding worlds of care-giver and cancer-fighter where hopes constantly crumble and as we embrace the darkness down the lonely, wicked road, we laugh at what we can't control.
It's hard because embracing darkness scares the Hell out of us!
The vast hordes of unanswered questions easily overwhelm us, almost pulling us off the road into, God only knows.
So we laugh as best we can.
Because laughter is the best medicine!
Unless you're a diabetic.
Then insulin's the best medicine.
Laughter sometimes comes in second.
