Having a morbid sense of humor is a very effective way to cope with stress and tragedy. For some people. The only problem is that other, saner people will hear you and assume you're a terrible person because "What decent person would make jokes about metastasized cancer?"
The average life expectancy on this planet since people were invented has been, well, I'm not sure, but certainly no higher than 40. To have survived childbirth, made it through your toddler years, completed all of your schooling without being claimed by the Black Plague or syphilis or something equally menacing like strep throat, then having married, conceived and raised two children (who also successfully evaded the Plague (so far)), moved 5,000 miles to a winter-free paradise and traveled around the world is a phenomenally impressive and lucky run for a puny human.
Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die, because life has a lot of fun moments that can still be found when people are reminded of life's brevity. I'm going to die regardless of whether or not a truck runs over me tomorrow or a honey badger mauls me in my sleep. Just because dad might not be around for long doesn't mean that we can't sit around mindlessly watching college football or that I have to feel guilty yelling at him for spoiling another Law and Order ending. He's been a spectacular husband, father and person, and he deserves to laugh and have fun times with the people he enjoys. Being gloomy around people who need to feel love is selfish, so why not have a laugh about Ted the Tumor? (Yes, it has a name. And its name has alliteration.)
On the other hand, if anyone sees him eating french fries, breaded chicken, or cheese sticks, slap it out of his hand and tell him that an angel dies every time he eats consumes preservatives.
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