After high school, I attended the University of Washington in Seattle very briefly. I hadn’t planned on it being brief; it was supposed to be where I would get my degree from after four years. But, for various reasons, it didn’t work out, and I transferred after my Early Fall Start program ended.

That first week (my first week of college!) my parents stayed in a hotel to help me get settled into UW. I was extremely emotional those first few days, and my parents were a big comfort, so I hung around them a lot. Midway through the week, my dad drove back to Olympia to check on our house and the cats, and the next day came back to Seattle.

Now, in order to understand the context of the events I’m about to describe, you need to understand something about me. I have a terrible habit of laughing uncontrollably during serious situations. For instance, when my great uncle died, I couldn’t stop smiling for several minutes as my dad relayed the news to my mom and I. Another time, my dad and I were home alone. All of a sudden, he had this terrible stomach pain. It was so bad that he was debating whether or not to call 911 (it turned out to be a kidney stone). But the entire time that this was going on, I couldn’t stop laughing. I was still giggling on the drive to the hospital. I think you get the picture.

So, anyway, back to the story. It was either the second or third day of class, and when it was over I hung out with my mom in the hotel room, with my dad set to come back anytime. I remember is that I woke up, and my dad was there. When he saw I was awake, he came and sat next to me, looking pretty serious.

“Alana, I have to tell you something,” he said. I just sat there, waiting.

“Papa died.”

Now, before I go further, there’s one more part of the story you should know. Apparently, my grandfather had died the day before, which is when my dad found out. So, on the drive up to Seattle, my dad was preparing not only to tell me that his father was dead, but also was preparing for my inevitable reaction of laughter. He knew that it was just the way I dealt with serious situations, and that my outward glee didn’t mean that I wasn’t feeling sad or scared or unsure on the inside, but it would still be tough to watch me laugh when he told me. So these were the thoughts at the forefront of my dad’s mind when he told me. Okay, now back to the story.

So it was an odd, surprising moment when he was the one who started laughing as he said to me “Alana, Papa died.”

I, on the other hand, immediately burst into tears.

The next moments were like something you could imagine taking place in a comedy. As I was sobbing and wailing “what?! Papa died?,” and just completely falling apart, my dad was telling me about how it was peaceful, he died in his sleep, family was already flying out to take care of Nana, all while he was laughing and smiling, and trying to get himself under control.

Later on, my dad compared what happened to a famous episode of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, in which a clown on the TV station in which she works dies. Mary’s colleagues all make jokes about Chuckles the Clown dying, and Mary is very judgmental about their flippant attitude. Later, at the funeral, when everybody is in a solemn mood, Mary starts giggling uncontrollably. What I’m getting at with this whole story is that sometimes we laugh, not because we think things are funny, but because it relieves our sadness, anxiety, or fear.