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There have been a lot of tears in Lewiston and across Maine over these past two weeks. How could there not be?
There also has been laughter. Tremendous, joyous, resilient laughter. This might seem counterintuitive or mismatched at a moment of such great tragedy, but it is actually a fairly common response.
The presence of laughter does not mean an absence of grief. Quite the opposite. Eighteen people who put joy into this world were unfairly taken from it. Part of the ongoing effort to grieve and honor them, surely, includes remembering and striving to recreate that joy. The laughter and the tears go hand in hand.
People don’t mourn in the same way, or on the same schedule. This, of course, will continue to be true for the many family and friends of the Lewiston shooting victims. As loved ones mourn at funerals, some public and some private, we continue to learn more about these 18 people at different speeds and depths. We must remember and celebrate them all.
Laughter was present at Ronald Morin’s funeral on Friday, where, as BDN reporter Julia Bayly captured beautifully, he was remembered as “a man who lived to laugh and make others laugh.”
The Rev. Daniel Greenleaf, pastor of Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul Upper Church, turned to a warming quote from novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky that could thaw even a cold Russian winter.
“‘If you want to discern a man and know his soul, you must look, not at how he keeps silent, or how he speaks, or how he weeps, or even how he is stirred by the noblest ideas,’” Greenleaf said. “‘But you had better look at him when he laughs.’”
Morin’s son, Eric Morin, set off a wave of laughter at his father’s expense.
“He was an incredible man and the whole world is talking about him,” Eric Morin said of his father. “Despite what people have said, he did have some flaws, and I’d like to share them with you.”
The younger Morin then allowed a long piece of paper to unfurl to the floor. It was met with a chorus of laughter from the hundreds gathered at the basilica.
That laughter, and the eternal joy it reflects, is stronger than any hateful, violent act could ever be. There is an elegant, eloquent bravery in the refusal to let the pain of today wash away the joy of yesterday — and in allowing the rest of us to share in the joy and help carry the pain.
Mainers have not been alone in this all important effort. President Joe Biden and first lady Jill Biden traveled to Lewiston Friday to offer their support in person.
“Jill and I are here on behalf of the American people to grieve with you and make sure you know that you’re not alone,” Biden said in remarks from Lewiston.
And as he grieved with people, Biden, who knows grief all too well, also brought a little bit of laughter. Ryan Dalessandro, who survived the shooting at Schemengees Bar and Grille, explained how the president made him laugh with a comment about them both having “married above our station” and how their wives connected about both being educators.
President Biden and the first lady, of course, have not been the only people to arrive in Maine doing what they can to help in the grieving process. Musician James Taylor came to Lewiston to sing the national anthem at the much-anticipated high school football clash between the Lewiston Blue Devils and Edward Little Red Eddies of Auburn one week after the shooting. This “Battle of the Bridge” took on a different feel than the typical rivalry game, with the two teams locking arms in a sign of unity before the contest.
Taylor told News Center Maine that he was honored to be asked to be part of the game, which he said “sort of marks another step at returning to normal, or trying to here.” He also spoke about the power of music.
“It’s got a way of putting you back in perspective, of bringing the universe into some kind of alignment,” Taylor told the TV station.
Finding that alignment after the Lewiston shooting will continue to be a difficult and shifting endeavor. But with tears and laughter, we will find it together.
