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I Miss Your Laugh

At 3:20 pm on July 28, 2013, Corey was pronounced dead. It’s been 11 months exactly.

The next thing I’d like to share with you that I love about my son (please notice I don’t say loved… I say love… because death doesn’t change the relationship) is his sense of humor.

Corey was always quiet, so most of his jokes were private with those he was close to. He was very good at small practical jokes.

He knew I hate when really deep debates break out at the table, so I’d be listening to the debate going on between Justin, Josh and Bob and my head would be going back and forth like I was watching a tennis match. Then Corey would finally catch my eye.

There he’d be with a cup suctioned onto his chin, a rubber band around his head and forehead and his eyes crossed. I’d bust up into laughter and he’d quickly resume a normal pose. Which would cause me to laugh even harder.

Then there were the times he’d use his deadpan sense of humor to get under other people’s skin. I felt sorry for the young friend of Josh’s that came to eat dinner with us one summer evening. Corey came to dinner, never spoke a word and stared at her the entire meal. He did it just to mess with her and his little brother, but she never returned to our house.

The last joke he played was on a co-worker. He came home and told me that one of his co-workers was one of “those guys” that always came to work with a story complete with crashing, squealing tire, or animal sounds.

So Corey began asking him, “How was that again?” whenever he’d use one of the sounds (just to make him use the sound again and to make him look silly). But after he’d asked him a few times, the guy started describing the sound instead of repeating it.

So his plan was to let him describe it for a while to see how long he’d do that, but then after a while to tell him he was more of a visual guy… and ask him to act out the sound.

He was really looking forward to the next phase of this joke. He never got the chance to see it through.

Corey- tonight at 11 months after your death, I miss your crazy sense of humor. The inside jokes. The way you could break the tension and make me laugh.

Gwen Carver

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