The Mitzvah of Laughter and Social Time: How a Comedy Show Helped Me Grieve

By Terry Anne Sachko

*Note: On July 12, 2025, HeartLight Center and Daniels Family Funerals-Carlisle Chapel partnered to offer a HeartLight Summer Social event for New Mexico participants at Quezadas Comedy Club and Cantina in Bernalillo, New Mexico. The intent was to allow program participants to socialize, have a new social experience, and get to know one another outside of support groups/programs. It was the first offering of its kind.

The HeartLight Center, most capably represented in New Mexico by Genna Reeves, PhD, has been my sanctuary during the most recent and crucial phase of the grieving period for my husband of almost 50 years. As his sole caregiver for the last 40 years of his life, my entire adult life was devoted to him 24/7—20 here in Albuquerque and 20 on the East Coast. John died last year, at almost 91 years of age. Although he had already lived a long life, his death was totally unexpected, and, in my non-professional medical opinion, premature and unnecessary.

I realized that I now could pursue the respite that the rest of the world foolishly and unrealistically tried to force on me at times when I was solely focused 24/7 on John’s welfare. For the first time in my adult life, I had all the time in the world to myself and had to face the reality of living alone. While the rest of the world saw this as a “respite,” it was a bittersweet one, as I was no longer able to share it with the one person I loved most. I spent the first four months of my widowhood in shock, not genuinely believing that John was gone from my life and not coming back. I realized that I had to move on with new, solo adventures and social connections. When confronted with things as simple as credit card tapping, I quickly found that I had more to learn about my new life than just wading through my formidable “Death Project.”

Over the next few months, I tried to dig out from under the daily deluge of paperwork that appeared suspiciously in my mailbox. The daily mail call forced me to fear, for the first time in my life, this inanimate object. It was as if its unknown contents held sway over every aspect of my life. Instead of eagerly seizing existing and new opportunities for adventure, I found myself facing an increasing number of demands on my precious time. To add insult to injury, I could not anticipate an end to this onslaught. I hoped that successfully enduring these mundane tasks would return my beloved husband to me at the end of this frustrating period in my life.

So, whether I wanted to or not, I had to excavate the piles daily to put my new life in some semblance of order and try to recover control over all aspects of these shambles before I could move forward. There are so many logistics around death – it is overwhelming. This reminded me of the fossils I had located during excavations in years past. The only difference, of course, was that the only treasure I wanted at the end of this hunt was my husband. All I had to do when I was so overwhelmed with this seemingly never-ending “Death Project” was glance over at the maroon cloth tote bag that contained John’s remains from the local crematorium. I could not even bear to transfer them into a more aesthetically pleasing container. I feared that I would never be able to restart my life.

It became clear that support in this process would be helpful. A neighbor highly recommended a grief support group nearby, so I decided to test the waters and attend. Things went swimmingly until I felt compelled to seek other options that were a better fit. Coincidentally, around that same time, another recently widowed acquaintance I had met at the first grief group strongly recommended that I join her at a different group hosted by HeartLight Center. I agreed to attend, and by the end of the first hour, I was hooked.

The facilitator, Genna Reeves, and even the grievers tried to help each other, not only with the grieving process but also with learning how to re-enter the non-grieving world and move forward with their lives. After attending more monthly sessions, I discovered that the second phase was the more challenging part of the process for all attendees, including our facilitator, who was a self-confessed griever herself. At first, I found it difficult to enter my new reality and participate fully and openly in this strange world. However, I gradually shared reflections based on the prompts that Genna kindly provided at the beginning of each session. She shared different topics for us to consider before bravely catapulting ourselves into the scary unknowns of life without our loved ones.

Part of those scary unknowns are the reactions of other people. While most people are empathetic when they learn you are grieving, some can be more intrusive than helpful. Hopefully, they respond with an appropriate condolence sentiment, like “sorry for your loss.” You usually respond with a “thank you” and then move on. Sometimes though, unfortunately, their sentiments were neither comforting nor appropriate, adding to my already tenuous hold on reality.

As I kept attending the monthly sessions to keep my hold on reality, I found a deep sense of peace, warmth, and acceptance for my raw response to death. We were comrades in arms, navigating the uncharted waters of a new world together. This shared experience set us apart from the non-grieving world, a distinction that many of us found challenging. We understand that while people outside our circle have good intentions, our society lacks the language and knowledge to properly approach those who are grieving. We learn how to talk, cook, and socialize as we grow up, but until a loved one dies, we do not learn the delicate art of coping and offering comfort to others without causing further trauma.

Several months into our journey, Genna told our grief group that Daniels Family Funerals–Carlisle Chapel, led by James Chambers (a sponsor of HeartLight Center), had offered to treat us to a special night out at Quezadas Comedy Club and Cantina. We were all delighted. Standing together, we were already strengthening our resolve to face the daily slights—real or imagined—of our new reality. The group’s honest advice and camaraderie had emotionally bolstered us, making it easier to navigate the world between our sessions. Now we were ready to practice navigating the world outside of our support group—and they gave us that opportunity.

“Perhaps this would be the start of a more ‘normal’ life for me,” I thought—socializing, if only with each other in our special cocoon. Using their expertise and empathy, HeartLight Center had graciously initiated a new and innovative approach to healing by asking us, the grievers, to take charge of our lives and collectively decide on at least one activity that was meaningful for us. In an environment where we may, at times, have felt that we had lost control of most aspects of our existence, we were asked to choose and participate in a group activity outside the monthly grieving group gathering, our safe space.

Our group unanimously decided to attend a local comedy club, perhaps looking forward to a fun evening out or maybe also cementing our bond as an even more cohesive group. As an aspiring comedian myself, I was thrilled with the opportunity to see a professional at work and to socialize with my fellow grievers. I had become very comfortable with them during our sessions, but I was wondering how we would all interact in a less structured social setting. As it turned out, I sat with a recent widower (whom I had met at another grief support group) at the show and socialized in a way I had not in a while. While the opening acts were a bit shocking with their topics and at times not funny to me, I tried to sit patiently and mindfully as I waited for the headliner. I hoped that the stark contrast might help him shine even brighter. 😉

The headliner for the evening was Steven Michael Quezada, a man of many talents. I knew him as a former actor on the Albuquerque-filmed TV series Breaking Bad, a retired Bernalillo County Commissioner, and an Albuquerque Board of Education member. In all these roles, Mr. Quezada has always been an activist trying to anticipate and serve the public’s interest. I had been following his career for the two decades we had lived in New Mexico. Mr. Quezada was, indeed, a hilarious person! He was well-rehearsed and clearly anxious to please his audience. Although some of his specific language and customs described were foreign to me, I still appreciated his humor and enjoyed my rare night out.

This experience made me realize that comedy can evoke a surprising mix of emotions. There were moments when he focused on his family, using his wife and children to illustrate his long-suffering trials and frustrations to get a laugh. While his observations on family life were funny, having just lost my husband—the love of my life for almost 50 years—I could not help but think that I would have given anything to have him back by my side, even for a fleeting moment. We could have been laughing together, enjoying the show, regardless of our personal foibles and his serious medical challenges over the years. This experience showed me that comedy, especially when it touches on the everyday details of life, can bring bittersweet reminders of a love that is now gone.

Still, I will forever be grateful to Genna, Daniels Family Funerals–Carlisle Chapel, and James Chambers, who funded our outing and arranged for us to have some fun, good cheer, and welcome respite from the new monikers that we now carry forever: griever and widow. We all needed a good airing of our minds and souls, and I, for one, know that the experience will forever stay in my heart—especially because of the mitzvah (good deed in Yiddish) that Genna and James gave all of us.

When we are ready to dip our collective toes in the outside world again, some of us may even feel comfortable enough to start socializing outside of the regular group sessions, and maybe even meet more often, as time, interest, and schedules permit.

Thanks for the good times!

Looking forward to many more.

Photos from Terry