(Marc Malamud is an end-of-life doula and leader of Papa J Virtual Death Café. He heads a nonprofit death doula service called Transitioning Doula. Marc is also a multimedia designer for social media and websites, event organizer, and A/V professional.)
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They say we laugh at what we don’t understand. If that’s true, then death might be the ultimate mystery – and the darkest of punch-lines. But for those of us who’ve lived long enough to lose someone we love, the joke doesn’t always land.
Still, I love humor. I love the kind of laughter that sneaks up on you and makes you snort in public. But when it comes to death, we’re not laughing at the loss – we’re laughing at the memories. The ridiculous, beautiful, unforgettable things our loved ones did that still make us smile through the tears.
George Bernard Shaw put it perfectly:
“Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.”
Humor, when it’s genuine and kind, has a place even in the darkest moments. As Allen Klein, author of The Courage to Laugh, wrote:
“Humor helps people cope; it empowers them. It is defiant, triumphant, and life-affirming. It provides perspective and balance, comic relief, and even liberation from loss.”
Grief doesn’t care about your job title or your follower count. It’s universal. And sometimes, seeing a public figure go through it reminds us we’re not alone. It’s not about celebrity – it’s about connection.
Take Carol Burnett. She lost her daughter and somehow turned that grief into creative expression. That’s not just resilience – it’s art. Many comedians do this. They take their pain, wrap it in timing and truth, and offer it to the world as something that makes us laugh and cry at the same time.
There’s a story about a comedian who noticed a grieving couple in the audience. He didn’t ignore them or make light of their pain – he acknowledged it with grace. That’s the tightrope walk of humor and grief. It’s not about making death funny. It’s about making life bearable.
When Humor Meets Memory: A Personal Reflection
I saw this firsthand when my own mother passed. She was a complex woman – funny in ways I didn’t always expect. Just before my father died, I discovered she wasn’t the prude I had always imagined. I won’t share the story here (there are young ears around), but let’s just say my cousin Marian wasn’t surprised.
In her final year, we found ourselves watching George Carlin skits on YouTube. She laughed hysterically – something I rarely saw. Carlin wasn’t what I’d have expected to be her cup of tea, but there she was, snorting with laughter. That moment reminded me that humor doesn’t just survive grief – it thrives in it.
Growing up, my mother and I fought daily. By the time I turned 30, we were finishing each other’s sentences. After my father passed, we grew closer than I ever imagined. Our conversations became short, but full – just a few words could carry entire meanings.
Even in her final days, joy found its way in. When I reminded her that my sisters, her grandchildren, and her great-grandchild were coming to visit, she lit up with a smile. Family was everything to her. So was music, theater, and art. She loved walking through her apartment, admiring her 310 pieces. She never said no to a concert, a ballet, or a night at the opera.
And she loved to dance. My dad didn’t. When she asked him to dance, he’d say, “When we’re in heaven.” They were atheists, so that was a joke. But I believe in heaven – and now they’re both there. Joke’s on Dad.
The Risk and Reward of Laughing Through Loss
Humor is weird. It’s personal. It’s cultural. It’s all about timing. What makes one person laugh might make another cringe. That old saying, “tragedy plus time equals comedy” – sure, but everyone’s clock runs differently.
Jokes about death, gun violence, or suicide? They’re emotional landmines. For some, they’re a release valve. For others, they’re a gut punch. If you’ve ever laughed at a dark joke and then felt a wave of guilt, you’re not alone. That emotional whiplash is part of being human.
In the end, what’s funny and what’s not is deeply personal. Reflecting on your own boundaries – and being curious about others’ – isn’t just thoughtful. It’s compassionate. Because sometimes, the best way to honor life is to laugh through the tears.
A Few Final Laughs
People often turn to humor to cope with the serious and inevitable nature of death. Here are a few quotes that capture that strange, sacred intersection:
“I’m not afraid of death; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” – Woody Allen
“Having your whole life flash before your eyes as you die is basically the ultimate binge-watch.” – Bridger Winegar
“I intend to live forever. So far, so good.” – Steven Wright
“To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths!” – Edgar Allan Poe
“The living are just the dead on holiday.” – Maurice Maeterlinck
“I hope to arrive to my death, late, in love, and a little drunk.” – Atticus
Because Grief Isn’t Just Sad – It’s Human
Grief is messy. It’s sacred. It’s exhausting. And sometimes, it’s funny. Not because death is funny, but because life is. Because memory is. Because love is.
So, if you find yourself laughing at a funeral, or chuckling through tears, don’t feel guilty. Feel grateful. That laughter is a sign that love is still alive in you.
And maybe – just maybe – that’s the best punch-line of all.
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Final Exit Network (FEN) is a network of dedicated professionals and caring, trained volunteers who support mentally competent adults as they navigate their end-of-life journey. Established in 2004, FEN seeks to educate qualified individuals in practical, peaceful ways to end their lives, offer a compassionate bedside presence and defend a person’s right to choose. For more information, go to www.finalexitnetwork.org.
Payments and donations are tax deductible to the full extent allowed by law. Final Exit Network is a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization.
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Thank you, Marc.
My family’s grief over the loss of my husband to dementia was greatly relieved at the stories – and jokes involving Walt – told at his memorial and after. And the funny stories and laughter is what I remember now, more than the really hard times!