Laugh Until You Cry

I have been blessed in this life with a plethora of sisters—some by blood, others by choice. And if there’s one thing that has defined our time together, it’s laughter. Deep, ridiculous, belly-shaking, breath-stealing laughter—the kind that makes you double over, clutching your stomach, and praying for air. The kind that leaves you wiping away tears and wondering how something could possibly be that funny.

To this day, my sister Dawnie and I still send each other memes of women doing the most absurd things, only to end up in fits of uncontrollable laughter. Like the one where two women are at a car wash, and while one is struggling to pry the vacuum hose off her own face, the other is laughing so hard she can’t even move to help. We send each other things like this, because every time we see them, we think, Yep, that’s us.

And honestly? That’s not an exaggeration.

Take, for example, the time my best friend (since birth), Kyra, and I were playing soccer on opposing teams. I was dribbling the ball down the field, feeling unstoppable, when I saw her approaching to defend. Instead of keeping my focus, I locked eyes with her, completely lost track of the ball, stepped right on top of it, and ended up flipping onto my back.

We. Could. Not. Move.

We were laying on the field, shaking with laughter, while both teams shouted, “Get the ball! GET THE BALL!” But we couldn’t.

Then there was the time I was preparing to leave for a Peace Corps term in Zambia. Naturally, this called for one last hurrah at Ky's mom's house. Dawn, Kyra and I were living it up when L, Ky's mom, in her infinite wisdom, declared, “You girls should bake some cookies!”

And we, in our infinite hunger, responded, “YES! And then we can eat them!”

Excited but slightly unprepared, we gathered in the kitchen, looked at each other, and immediately burst into laughter. Why? Because none of us actually knew where to begin. L took pity on us and handed us a recipe, and we felt more confident. Measuring, mixing, feeling like absolute masters of the baking arts. We popped the cookies in the oven and headed to the deck.

Then L called us back.

We gathered around the oven, filled with anticipation, only to be met with the most unappetizing batch of cookies we had ever seen. The shapes were off, the texture was questionable. As it turns out, we had confused teaspoons with tablespoons and, for good measure, baking soda with baking powder.

Dawn bravely took a bite.

The look on her face alone had us bent over, gasping for air, the floor littered with failed cookie crumbs. Lucky for us, L had seen this disaster coming and had a backup batch ready to go.

Years later, when I returned from Africa, I found myself at dinner with Sage, another childhood friend, and her family. We had grown up together and were close, so when she told me she was visiting Flagstaff, I immediately decided to make the trip from New Mexico to see her.

To let her know I was coming, I sent a text: a photo of an I-40 mileage sign showing 72 miles to Flagstaff.

Her response? “Cute.”

…Cute?

I was unimpressed.

So, naturally, I called her and explained that I was coming to see her. Once she actually understood, she was thrilled. But at dinner that night, I brought it up again. I showed everyone the text, her reply, and then declared, “THAT is not the reaction I was going for.”

Giggles flowed out of her as she shook her head, saying, “I didn’t know!” I explained how much more excited she was after I called, and how her reaction right now was so worth it.

And then there’s Sagi. My little sister, ten years younger than me. We had spent so many years apart, living our own lives, that when I moved to Boston in January of 2020, the reason was to be closer to her.

The timing was eerily perfect. As the world took a collective breath and hid from the VID, Sagi and I found ourselves together. We spent that year with Julian (our brother) and Deedee (his wife) playing games, walking through the great north woods of New England, and laughing about our childhood.

Laughing about the absurdity of the world shutting down, and even about Corona’s ability to deliver absolutely on-point ringers. Corona was the sister we lost, and we had rarely talked about her in twenty years. But in the strangest way the virus brought her back to us. Together again, we could laugh through the sorrow of missing her.

That year and the years to follow were a gift. A chance to be together, to reconnect, to create new memories that were filled with the kind of laughter that binds us together. The kind that heals.

And that’s the magic of laughter. It takes ordinary moments and turns them into stories we will tell for years. It is also one of the most effortless forms of flirtation—not in the seductive sense, but in the way it opens people up, makes them feel safe, and invites them to be fully present. When we share laughter, we are sharing a moment of pure connection, one that requires no pretense, no agenda, just joy. It’s impossible to laugh deeply and not feel closer to the people around you. It connects us, disarms us, makes life so much more fun. It’s the glue of my sisterhood, the soundtrack of my best friendships, the thing that makes every misstep, every ridiculous mistake, absolutely worth it.

Because at the end of the day, the best moments in life? They’re the ones that leave you laughing until you cry, the ones that remind you that connection isn’t just about words—it’s about shared joy, shared absurdity, and the courage to be completely unguarded with the people who make your life beautiful.

Thank you to my beautiful sisters: