Anthony has always had such a wonderful sense of humour and a way of being firmly planted, accepting of all contingencies, and light-hearted. I used to think these attributes were rather superficial and that he didn’t have depth (whatever the hell ‘depth’ means!) but I have, over our nearly 20 years of marriage, learned to do what he does, which is to laugh his way into and around various situations and then dismiss them as unimportant.
Well, no, I haven’t actually learned to do that exactly, but I am trying and I have Anthony’s verbal handbook by my side just in case I forget. He could run around paddocks and round cattle up without a murmer of exhaustion; he could climb onto the roof of this house during a cyclone and stop it; he could nurture a rejected calf and bring it up (and, until a few years ago, before ‘Reject’ died, this calf-come-steer would actually leap into Anthony’s arms and give him a hug.)
“Am I like you, or Dad?” Son asks me and I hide my anxiety behind a chuckle that reminds me of Anthony’s attitude.
“You are you, kid!” I say.
“Yes, but I think I might be more like you, Mum – serious and sad….”
I take a deep breath and say, “No, you are much more like Dad because of your sense of humour!”
“You know the way you laugh, Mum, in that loud way – could you try to do that a bit more often?”
“Okay.”
Anthony hasn’t laughed for a couple of years now. He used to have this raucous guffaw and his whole face would crinkle up in mirth and it was absolutely contagious and Son and I would be swept into this wonderful hilarity – always.
Anthony can’t even smile anymore and, the other day, when I said to him, “I wish you would just smile at me,” he said, “Jules, I have Parkinson’s – remember?”
“Yes,” I said, “but can’t you just try to smile?”
Anthony tried and failed and then looked at me (I was smiling hyena-ishly, trying to get him to do the same), and said, “Jules, you really are quite thick, aren’t you!”
And we both smiled….
jmgoyder 
What a beautiful insight into your family. I feel like I’ve known you all for years through your posts.
I kind of feel like I know you too!
Laughter is the Best Medicine and it’s true. It’s even worked on my chronic pain (sometimes).
How wonderful to have a Man who always knew how to laugh. Despite his inability to laugh with his face muscles now, he sounds like he still has a great sense of humour.
How Blessed you and Son are….
It comes through in your writing and in Son’s wonderful, wise & mature words, that he has inherited some of that humour too.
(I come from a very serious family & upbringing, in general, and I feel saddened that we never really had that humour in our upbringing).
I relate to the serious upbringing but hadn’t thought about it that way before – interesting and thank you so much, Victoria, for this comment. Jx
i know what it is like to deal with a parkinson’s patient who is my brother, but i can not imagine what it is like to have spent my life loving, giving every part of myself, all my personal thoughts, to a parkinson’s patient who is a spouse. i imagine there are days you miss him so much and other days you wish he would go away, and the other side of him come back to you.
You describe the dilemma beautifully and I know you understand.
i hate to admit it, but i do
Just heart-warming. You and Anthony have such a special bond. It is the foundation of the great Love Story you are writing. I can’t imagine life without being able to smile and laugh. Such a hard one for all of you (Son included). Yes – agree with Son … you need to work on getting that ‘loud laugh’ to surface more Julie… good medicine for all of you 😉 Sending hugs ~
We all used to laugh a lot – am trying to get that back somehow.
I get it… good project, try here too.xo
oh my …. just re-looked at your post – – did Anthony get a smile out after he said you were ‘thick’?? That is WONDERFUL!! xxoo
Just a little one but yes!
Smiling Just smiling.
Darling Son!!!!
He is a little bit like Anthony and alot like you but mostly just himself in all his wonderful uniqueness!
love how you are living through and around and with your difficulties
Thanks!
Hi,
A lovely read, and I thought you ended it beautifully. 🙂
It was great for him to finally smile a little!
Laughter can help carry you through the burden of life’s troubles. I hope you can find laughter once in a while. And I love your husband’s sense of humor.
So do I!
This feels like it is going to be a movie someday. Big hugs.
I wish!
Lovely! He is smiling inside even if he can no longer smile physically.
Weird thing is he can chuckle but with no smile – or very little smile anyway and he used to be such an LOLer!
My kids ask the same question. I tell them, “You have your dad’s good side and your dad’s bad side. You have only my good side, so anything you got bad, you got from Dad.”
When Dad was medicated, he rarely smiled. We eventually got him off the meds, and he smiled again. He had a great smile and laugh, like Ants, and I miss it so much. So I try to smile and laugh often like Dad did and enjoy the time I’ve been given.
{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}} Texas love…
Good call – wonderful comment and many thanks!
LOL! Your writing captures these tragicomic moments so perfectly, Julie.
Thanks because that is a great compliment bb! jx
You REALLY need to write that book. This is well written.
I KNOW the power of humor! The old cliche “laughter is medicine” is REALLY REALLY true…
🙂 I live by it.
Thank you! You are so right.
Lovely, as usual.
Julie – you are an awesome writer! I am constantly amazed at how you can bring the reader into the heartbreaking intimacy of these moments without clobbering them with all the raw intensity of the emotion.
So glad you and Anthony are able to find keep the humor if not the laughter.
Wow – thank you!
Oh, this is a tender description of the relationships in your family and how you view one another! Very nicely written! 🙂
Yes, I am lucky!
I love smiles…………
At least son gets to ask. My dad died when I was 6 and mom gave me away when I was 10. I have no idea if I was like either one of them, and I truly would like to know.
Do you know where your mum is now?
My stepsister called me this past February to tell me that she had died of complications from pneumonia and a stroke at the age of 81.
oh shit sorry!
Everyone dies eventually. She was 81, and I hadn’t seen her since 1995. Prior to that it was 1965.
ok
Do I sound cruel or uncaring? About some things, like my mom, and, at this moment in time, both sides of my blood family, I am.
You never sound cruel or uncaring but it must be difficult not to be.
Russel, for some reason I can’t reply to your wonderful comment answering my blog questions. So sorry! Not sure what to do because I want to approve and reply but no buttons appear ????