Halloween Rabbit

One thing my sister and I are known for is laughter. We have a sense of humor that rivals many. Our mother told us once during a shopping trip that she never worried about being separated from us in a large store because all she had to do was wait a minute and our laughter would direct her to us. We come by our humor rightly, our parents raised us on theirs. Dry, spontaneous and quick with a comeback our father could crack the veneer of any serious occasion, and often did. Mom's humor, a bit more reserved, appears now at the most unexpected times, like when the paramedics asked if she knew who the President was (her answer a safe one..."Why? Don't you?" quickly followed by "He's in trouble!") or after looking at my new necklace, handmade in Africa..."you could probably send it back".

While there is still the spark of humor in her it has faded and she jokes with us less and less. I miss that. Conversations between my sister and I and even the family in general carry less laughter these days and of all the things I miss, our laughter is at the top of the list. Which brings me to my point today, the point of a ridiculous thought that brought with it laughter, rich strong 'church giggle' laughter.

Like her father before her, my mother loves sweets. Cookies, cake, pie, candy, the form irrelevant, she loves it all and we often find candy wrappers in the pockets of her sweater, jacket or slacks. Sweets bring her pleasure so we bring her sweets.

I bought a bag of candy corn, those syrupy sweet yellow, orange and white triangles that herald the arrival of fall and, I must confess, tempt me beyond reason. We ate them throughout the evening last night, passed the candy dish between us. (When I helped her to bed and returned to the dish I was embarrassed to see how little was left and pledged abstinence for myself for the next week to make up for the amount of sugar I ate in one sitting.)

The lights turned out I climbed the stairs to my old room with its small bed and noticed a piece of candy corn on the stairway landing. Thinking of the nightly toy pick up at our house I scooped it up and continued my climb. A few stairs up and another piece of candy, more stairs, more candy. Much like Hansel and Gretel I picked my way along the candy path to my mother's room where the last piece of candy rested on the threshold.

As I threw the candy in the wastebasket I couldn't help but smile, which led me to giggles, which led me to laughter. All by myself, in my little bed in my mother's house I held my sides and pictured the candy trail, the trail that led me to my mother's room. Blazing that trail I pictured a bunny in full Halloween regalia leaving candy corn droppings in his wake.

In the light of day this morning the Halloween Bunny wasn't as comical as it was the night before, but my memory of laughing about it, of the pure joy of the humor and the trail of those candy pieces surfaced throughout the day and made me aware of how fortunate we were and are to have the ability to laugh, the ability to still find humor. Even though we may have to dig deeper for it, we still seek it out and take comfort in it when it is found. I know we will laugh again, share those moments together when our mouths open and joy spills out, spills out and rises above us, carries through the air and helps our mother find us.