There is nothing funny about finding your thirty-six-year-old father at the tender age of seven lying on the floor. Dead from a heart attack. There is nothing funny about sitting in an old church in a small town called Anguilla in the state of Victoria. On a cold gloomy windy day with a bunch of people who you have never met, looking at your father’s open casket. 

There is certainly nothing funny about watching your mother take her last breath. From the agonizing pain of cancer and there is nothing funny about becoming a burden to your uncle then getting dumped on your twenty-two-year-old sister who is struggling to get by, merely months just after your mother died.