Having A Laugh with Death (And All His Friends)... by Ryan Dillon

The first person I ever made laugh was my Mom.

It was a Saturday morning, and my sister and I had taken every toy out of the toybox and had laid them all out on the floor in perfect chaos. My mom, a single parent looking forward to her first day off in a long time, came downstairs in utter shock at the mess we had curated.

“What happened!?!” she choked at me, looking for answers. As a child whose babysitter was syndicated sitcoms and Disney movies, I pulled a line of dialogue that felt familiar to the situation at hand: “It’s a LOOOOONG story”. She responded with a swift “WELL!?”, to which after a half beat I replied, “I did it”.

To this day this was the hardest I’ve heard her laugh (and some of my best work).

The best jokes are made when there is a lot of tension, which our household was no stranger to. It was only a few months since my father passed away from a work accident, which wasn’t too long after my mother and father got divorced. I was too young to comprehend what it meant that my father had “Died”. I didn’t understand what, or who, Death was. I also didn’t understand it when my Poppy Dillon died, or when my Poppy Hanlon died, or when my Great- Grand Poppy Hanlon Died, all within the next few years. (I may have mixed up the order. Don’t tell my mom...or my nan...or my other nan).

Death never shows up alone. He has many friends, and they’re all a bunch of jerks. When he took every man in my life that I looked up to and left, his old pal Tension stuck around like a friend who asked to crash on your couch for “a few days” and now has the same postal code on his driver’s licence as yours.

Tension and I became quite close. I have faced his friend Death early in life, and after getting to know the pair quite well, I was well equipped to become the comedian I am today. If Death was ever to come back, I was ready.

Then last year Nick died.

Nick was comedian in the Toronto scene we all loved. He was an original, one of the hardest working folks in the scene, violently funny, and so kind. We weren’t super close, but we worked together a bunch and we would message each other on Instagram about whatever new thing Adam Sandler had just put out and how hard it made us laugh. His passing was a shock to the scene, and we all took it so hard. I had not seen Death for quite some time, and he’s one of those folks who you really want a heads up before he visits, especially when his new friend Cruelty was riding shotgun. I remember thinking how unfair it was that someone so great could be taken away from us. I said to myself I wouldn’t take this thing we call life for granted, and to remember to do comedy because you love comedy, like Nick. It’s the only reason worth doing it.

It was just a few short months later that Tim died.

A prolific comic, writer, and a mentor of mine. I remember being in awe of him when I first moved to Toronto because he was an east coaster who had one of the biggest TV writing gigs you could get in Canada for years, toured everywhere, respected by his peers, plethora of awards, a beautiful family who he had a home with that he bought with comedy. I remember asking him for a lunch to pick his brain. Not only did he give me years of wisdom in the short time we spent together but also hired me for my first writing job. He paid me out of pocket to punch up stuff he was working on. I was so shit at it, but I was so grateful. When I found out Tim was sick, it was kick to the gut. In his final months we would go play poker in his “bunker”, and I was just in awe of him then as I was when I just met him, because here he was knowing what was to come, but still doing what he loved: having a laugh with his friends.

At this point in time, I have not been doing many shows. The pandemic was just starting to wind down and I was expected to get back out there, but it was just too hard. I have met Death’s new friend: Fear. When my father(s) died when I was young, it was unexpected, but also so new. I didn’t understand it. Now I know Death, and how he can show up at any time he wanted, take anyone I care for, and I just could not shake that. Just when you think it’s over, someone else is gone. Fear and Death will show up when the party is over with a half bag and drag you to an after-hours that you didn’t want to go to, and if you don’t go with them, they will take one of your friends, like Andrew.

Andrew.

In just these few short months I have lost a respected peer and a mentor, but thanks to Fear, I am now afraid to lose Andrew; a great comic and a great friend. These past few years he had found Deaths toy box and decided to borrow his favourite toys: booze and cocaine, which he promised he would bring back, but never did. Now it’s sunrise, the after-hours is closed, Death went home, but Fear won’t leave and won’t shut up about how we should “start a band”.

Well, it was time to kick Fear out, because I had just lost two friends to Death, and I am not about to lose another one. With a couple of months of planning, a handful of Andrew’s closest friends and I in comedy banded together and held an intervention. We told him how we loved him, but how he had to make changes, or he would die. It was a hard day, but it had to happen. Andrew knew we were right, and the next day we dropped him off at rehab, and we didn’t see him for thirty days. On day 31 we saw an Andrew we had not seen in a long time. We jumped Death in a dark alley and kicked his teeth in, and I’m happy to say that our friend Andrew is the healthiest he has ever been, and in the few months since getting out of rehab he has written some of the funniest material any of us have heard about such a dark chapter in someone’s life.

For the first time in almost nine months I felt inspired to do what I love again.

Here was my friend not letting one of the hardest points in his life stop him. Why can’t I? I decided to kick Death to the curb, along with all his friends, grab my notebook, and hit the mics, and do what I love.

Then two months later my best friend, Jake, took his life.

We met in high school. He was the most popular guy at Bishops College, and I was on the improv team. Despite being vastly lower on the social ladder, he would always reach down and pull me up a few rungs every day. He even joined the improv team and made THAT cool. He was charming and a goof, every woman had a crush on him (and he knew it, the handsome bastard). He always made everyone feel welcomed and loved. He also made me laugh so goddamn hard. I owe half the crows feat around my eyes to him. He always supported me and what I wanted to do. Whether it was coming to a truly awful open mic and laughing when I was bombing, or just invititng others to my shows, he was a true friend, and I loved him, and now he’s gone.

I was in the parking lot of The Second City and had just gotten out from teaching a class. His mom called and told me. I was destroyed. There I was, in one of Comedy’s biggest institutions, screaming and crying. I had just lost the person who made me laugh the hardest in my life at the place I wanted to make the most people laugh. What a hack joke.

I didn’t want to do comedy anymore. I just didn’t care. Suddenly you’re supposed to have a tight five to submit for the Halifax Comedy Festival and the only new thing you’ve written in months is your friend’s obituary (which isn’t even clean so they wouldn’t even take it if I tried). Death had his hand around my throat with of his friends behind him and they were the only ones laughing. Life just became so hard. I mean, why did I even want to anymore? The folks I looked up to, the people who mentored me, the ones who championed me, were gone. I’m also not ignorant to the fact that this will just keep happening. As we all get older, we will lose more and more people in our lives. The ones we love will grow old, get sick, or just...go.

Then, for the first time all year, something funny happened.

I flew to Newfoundland to help his family with the celebration of life. The funeral was a few days before. During the pastor’s speech she said something that made everyone so uncomfortable. She looked to Jake’s parents and said “Mike, Shannon, you both loved Jake, but you know who loved Jake more?....God”. Jake was not a religious man, and that was well known, so when those words bounced off the wall, Death’s old pal Tension burst through the door and started playing the bagpipes.

Two days later was the celebration of life. One of Jake’s other best friends, Anthony, and I co-ordinated an event where folks could share stories about Jake, have some smiles between the tears and remind ourselves of why he was so important to all of us. My heart was full for the first time all week when we saw how many people showed up. I had to speak first, and I thought I could keep it together and keep things light, but it was tough. After a few anecdotes about how much of a beautiful soul he was, and reminding everyone that this event is about celebrating his life with tears of joy, I looked at Jake’s parent’s and said the first joke I have written in months: “If I could take one thing from the funeral and bring it in this room today, it’s this: Mike, Shannon, you both loved Jake, but you know who loved Jake more?...”

“...every woman in this goddamn city.”

The place erupted. It was the first time all week I saw Mike, Shannon, and Jake’s Sister Emily truly laugh. It lit the spark for what the event was supposed to be, and it carried through until we all went home. Here was this packed room full of Jake’s loved ones gathered in mourning over the loss of someone so important to them, and they were all losing it laughing.

I felt something I had not felt in a long Time. I felt the same way I did when I made my mom laugh when I was just a child. It was such a joy and privilege to make people feel better.
As I was heading back to Toronto I kept thinking about that joke and why we even listen to jokes in the first place. Everyone is going through something in their lives, and every now and then we need to take break. Every laugh you have is the reminder of why we keep going in the first place. That’s why I want to do it again. Death, and all his friends, will never go away. They will always drop in unannounced, eat all your food, turn the music up too loud, and will never take the hint that the party is over. You must live with them forever, but that doesn’t mean you have to let them dictate your life.

Two weeks later my mom called me to tell me she was sick. Really sick. The big sick.
I had already lost so many folks this year, so the thought of losing the first person I ever made laugh was another kick in the throat. I had already lost so many people, and although possibly prevented losing one, you can’t hold an intervention for this...but there is one thing I can do.

I have called my mom almost every day since. Whenever she answered the phone, I would do everything I can to make her laugh. I’ve heard her laugh more in the past few months than I have in my entire life, and I have not taken it for granted.

I will never take for granted that I can make people have a laugh and feel better again.

My notebook is back in my hand. I’m writing terrible jokes and bombing at mics again. I’m doing my best and enjoying it once more. Death, and all his friends, are still there, but now they’re giving me tags to my punchlines.

I’m also happy to share that as of writing this my mom has gone through treatment and is doing much, much better. I still call her every chance I get, and I’m still making her laugh.

for nick, tim, and jake.

Ryan Dillon - @theryandillon