A few words on laughter … and ass sandwiches

I am not an expert on anyone’s grief, including my own. The tagline to this blog says, “The story of a woman just trying to get her shit together,” and that’s me. Key word being ‘trying.’ Favourite word being ‘shit.’

I’m slightly more than a year into widowhood and the biggest thing that I’ve learned is to trust myself. Trust my instincts. Be myself. It might sound strange but there have been times that the person I thought I knew and the person whose reflection I was looking at in the mirror weren’t the same. I know that I’m changing. The death of My Favourite Husband (MFH) was going to change me. However, even with those changes, the only way I am going to move myself forward is to unearth parts of who I already am. My new road is going to be a blend of who I was, who I am and who I will be. Are you with me? Don’t make me say shit.

All this prelude is leading up to this. One of the biggest traits that I have is my sense of humour. I love to laugh. I love to smile. And MFH? He enjoyed laughter as well, even though he often gave off the vibe of seriousness. He was usually the first to break a “stalemate” in our house and it was generally done with laughter. We laughed throughout his kidney failure journey — sometimes dark humour but it was us and that was OK — especially since we thought there would be a transplant and a tomorrow.

So, it’s no surprise lots of my widowhood journey has included laughter. It has surprised people who don’t know me well. For the people closest to me, however, they’ve laughed along because they know there’s no disrespect, only love. 

The laughter has included everything from me fumbling through funeral arrangements (moments of which I’ve already shared) to things people have said to me (shared a few of those, as well) to just how my life is generally a comedy show — and no tickets are required to watch.

I haven’t shared a lot about my memories with MFH on my blog because most of them are for me and the blog is meant to be about my life now. Having said that, I do have one story that I’ve shared with many people over the years. It’s just one of a lifetime of stories that helps me find smiles. I thought I’d share it here. I hope it makes you smile, too.

• • •

I’m a sandwich artist. I’ve been one for years. Honestly, it has been how I’ve gotten through a few moments of marriage without beaking off. Sometimes, saying what’s on my mind, isn’t worth the fight. 

So, when I need to bite my tongue, I take it out on MFHs sandwich. I “write” what I’m thinking on his bread. Usually, what I’m thinking, is that he’s an ass.

So, that’s what I write — ASS — in yellow mustard. And then I cover it up with the sandwich filling — meat, cheese, lettuce — so that it smears the mustard and he never knows that he’s eating an “ass” sandwich for lunch.

Well, he didn’t know until I got busted. You see, there was a day when there was some yapping throughout the course of the day. And when it was supper time, sandwiches were on the menu. And I REALLY needed to write what I was thinking so, while he was sitting at the kitchen table watching me prepare them, I took the mustard bottle and wrote my magic.

 

I wasn’t paying attention because, when I finished writing, I looked up and there he was, staring down at a piece of toast that said ASS.

The look on his face was priceless. I couldn’t help it. I lost it laughing. And, after a minute, he started as well. We laughed until our eyes were leaking.

He asked me how long I had been doing that and I told him for as long as we’d been married and squawking at each other. I told him it could’ve been worse; I could’ve been leaving the wrappers on the cheese slices!

He told me he was going to check his sandwiches for messages going forward. I told him not to bother because I smeared the evidence.

All memories are priceless but the ones that make me laugh are the ones that help me the most.

❤️