Everyone has their own coping mechanisms when someone dies. Some bottle everything up. Others lash out. My family… well, we party.

I have always grown up in this atmosphere that funerals weren't exactly sad. The phone call informing you that your loved one had died, now that was sad. That was when you cried for an hour, but then you picked yourself up and started calling other people and airlines and hotels. It was a system. Mom would call, Dad would go to the bar, I would miss school and help Mom pack, and the next day we'd be on a plane.

Since the majority of my family is in the fire department, wakes are a three-day event, and all of them are packed. Therefore, the family members tend to stay outside at what some would consider a tailgate. Coolers of beers and sodas are in the trunk of every vehicle; every now and again you hear a cheer and cackle, and then the time comes when you have to go inside as a small service starts in the funeral home.

At this point, my cousins and I would try to disappear to the bathroom downstairs. All the adults usually tried to grab us and "care" for us, which was strange. When we were younger, they thought we didn't understand why we there, and, even as a teenager, this still happened to me. I have been to more funerals than probably any 20-year-old right now will go to in their entire life. I know how death works, I know the severity of this whole thing. I just don't like crying in front of people, I'd rather do it in the comfort of my own bed.

The reason I am telling you all this is because humor helps heal the pain. As I have mentioned in a couple of past articles, my father has cancer. While they caught his other cancers in the early stages, we have reason to believe that the cancer he is battling now is Melanoma, which spread from his back into his shoulder bone. Pretty much, if cancers spreads, no matter when they catch it, it is never good. Dad is doing radiation, some chemo, and is trying out this brand new drug designed for Melanoma – since Melanoma does not respond to chemo.

While my was giving me his latest update, he told me that he and Mom had been disagreeing about something. I, of course, was curious, thinking it had something to do with treatment or what not.

“I want a t-shirt that says ‘I survived Jerome’s funeral, but he didn’t’ and it has to be Kelly green for the department.” He stated this as if he was telling me the weather, nothing completely insane at all. He later added that he also wanted a souvenir beer mug or glass to put the shirt in, and that, while we could sell them for 25 bucks to help pay for the funeral, he mainly just thought it would be cool. I agreed and said it would be true Jerome fashion.

Mom said we were crazy, and that we could not do that at a funeral because that is stepping over the line. But taking a photo of the dead person and playing poker with them or having a song that literally calls them a piece of shit for dying, that is totally fine, but selling shirts is overkill. Even when I said we didn’t have to sell them, just give them out, I was immediately met with an eye-widened stare, and she walked away saying how we would were not allowed to talk about this anymore. Since I know Mom reads my articles... sorry. In that moment, I laughed. I haven’t exactly been dealing with Dad's cancer diagnosis well. Though I may not show it much, or in the correct way, I am worried about what will happen in the next few months.

There are a lot of people who are worried about similar situations. Whether that involves a grandparent, aunt or uncle, mother or father, or even a sibling or cousin. Cancer sucks- all illness sucks- but we all have to push it to the side almost to be able to focus on what has to be done. For my dad, that is making sure that his funeral shakes up our normal funeral policy. For my mom, however, it is refusing to talk about that possibility when we are still far from that point. For me, it is writing down my dad’s hilarious one-liners and sharing them with my community.

Cancer sucks, but it doesn’t have to suck all the time. The same way that death is sad, but you can only be sad for so long.