BY WALT ALBRITTON
OPINION —
In one of the antique stores my wife loved to visit, Dean found a plaque with these words on it: “If you love somebody enough, you can still hear the laughter after they’re gone.” She paid $3 for it, brought it home and found a place for it in our den. In front of it she placed a picture of my sister, Laurida, and another of our son, David, both deceased. Laurida and David were both laughing heartily when the pictures were made.
The author of that statement penned a great truth. When I look at the picture of my sister, I can still hear her boisterous laughter. Never timid, Laurida laughed “all over” when she laughed. Watching her laugh was more enjoyable than whatever had triggered our laughter.
Laurida was a wonderful mother, because all of her seven children are splendid people. Like our mother, Laurida was a dedicated homemaker. Her sweet rolls left everyone begging for more. Her great love was her family, and her children knew it and were blessed by her devotion to them. I am sure each of them was shaped by the influence of their godly mother, who left this world all too soon.
I don’t remember seeing my sister cry but one time. That was when she shed tears of joy while lying in bed, soon to succumb to cancer. The occasion was the marriage of her daughter Margie to Warren Clark Johnson. I had the honor of joining them in holy matrimony at the foot of Laurida’s bed because she was too weak to make a trip to the church.
I remember Laurida laughing every time we were together. She loved life, and when she laughed, she put her whole body into it. So, it’s true — I loved her enough that I can look at her picture and still hear her laughing.
Memories of our son, David, are a bit different. I remember him crying many times, especially during the long months of his terminal illness. Pain produces tears, especially for children. And their pain is compounded for parents who are helpless to explain why an innocent child must suffer.
One of my worst memories is of David begging me to not let a nurse hurt him with needles while giving him a blood transfusion. I could think of no way to explain why his daddy would allow someone to hurt him. The nurse asked me to hold him still while she inserted the needle into his arm. On many days he cried himself to sleep in my or his mother’s arms.
But we made no pictures of David crying. We made many of him laughing vigorously. He did have moments of sheer joy. Those are the pictures we cherished. One of the best of those pictures sits in a small frame in front of the plaque. When Dean put it there, it was her way of affirming the words, “If you love somebody enough, you can still hear the laughter after they’re gone.”
Life is a mixture of tears and laughs, of joy and sorrow, of pain and pleasure. Were there no pain we could not appreciate pleasure. The challenge is not to let pain and sorrow defeat us. Faith in a loving God, who hurts with us when we are hurting, is the key to victory. I like to think it is refusing to let pain or sorrow have the last word.
Sometimes when I stop and listen in my soul to the laughter of Laurida and David, and my precious Dean now, I think of a painting I love called “The Laughing Jesus.” I know Jesus laughed because he loved children – and you can’t love children without laughing with them. So, the victorious laughter of Jesus, mingled with the laughter of my departed loved ones reminds me that the dark night of sorrow must inevitably give way to the joy of the eternal morning. Joy can laugh at sorrow, for joy will have the last word.
Am I sure of that? Yes, I am. It was confirmed in my heart by the One who said he came that we might have joy. Laughter springs from that joy in our hearts. Hallelujah!
