Last night, I remembered to laugh with him, to appreciate his trying to be funny through the tired that sometimes threatens to overwhelm us both in this crazy year. He made his joke and I felt the choice rise: to laugh, or push it away, too tired for funny to be funny and for him to reach me.
I chose the smile, let it grow into a little laugh, and watched his eyes. It held him, the reaching me. Humor let the souls touch where they hadn't been touching before. I chose him, in part, because he makes me laugh. And he chose my laugh, this whole-life through.