Obituaries are more about life than death

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash


There was a time when I would have nothing to do with newspaper obituaries. It was always the one section I was guaranteed to skip unless there had been a recent death in my own family or circle of friends.

In my omnipotent youth, obits were the domain of the dead, and not of those of us with so much life ahead of us. Admittedly, this outlook depended on the inane assumption that old age is the only cause of death, and precluded the many illnesses and mishaps that can claim a person's life well before their time.

Deep down, perhaps I realized the dubious nature of the above assumption but was in denial of the cold reality that a person's lifespan is thoroughly unpredictable, not to mention unconnected to any notion of fairness. (Hello cancer, you unforgivable rat bastard.)

Gradually, however, the passage of time and the cruelties of fate have served to dismantle the luxury of that denial. At 48, I can now look back on all too many friends and loved ones who exited this life for reasons that have nothing to do with age nor even necessarily with how well they took care of their health. The culprits have included heart attacks, terminal illnesses, car accidents, a house fire, and suicide, among others.

None of the above makes me special or unique--I'm sure anyone reading this has a similar list of their own. To those who don't, all I can say is give it time. Sooner or later, you'll be all caught up.

Without exception, I've never sat through anyone's funeral feeling like I knew or appreciated them as well as I could (or should) have. Even in cases of those who were a constant presence in my life, I end up feeling like a heel for not having soaked up nearly enough of their light while they were alive, and for not fully appreciating how much of a gift they were to me and everyone else in their life.

On the other hand, we have only so much bandwidth for the sundry people in our respective personal realms, particularly given the avalanche of responsibilities and mundanities that overwhelm us on any given day. Therefore, perhaps we should practice radical acceptance of the fact that most of the time, we'll never be satisfied with how well we knew and appreciated any person in our lives after they are gone.

No matter how well I did or didn't know a deceased friend or loved one, however, if they had any lasting impact on me I'm left wanting to tell anyone who'll listen what kind of a void they now leave by their absence. In some cases, I have wished those total strangers could understand how much richer their lives could have been if they too had known the departed.

I believe this need to pay tribute is a natural and righteous part of the grieving process. Likewise, newspaper obituaries (and their online counterparts) play an important role in honoring a person's life, even when the text is terse and sticks to the main facts of their passing (when and where they died, who they're leaving behind, funeral details).

All these years later, I now see the unfamiliar faces and names in the obituary pages in a different light. For each person therein, there are family members who want the world to know who the deceased was to them and to others who knew and loved them. While a stranger's death is not a direct loss to us personally as casual readers, their obituary represents our only chance at ever having any vague sense whatsoever of who that person was, why they mattered, and to whom.

Now, whenever I happen to pick up a newspaper, I often go straight to the obituaries first--sometimes I quickly scan through that day's listing, and other times, if substantial or striking details about the person are revealed, I'll linger for a while, and maybe even forget about reading the rest of the paper. In reading the particulars of how a stranger lived and died, I am sometimes reminded of those times when I needed others to know how who it was I had just lost, and what kind of impact they had on me, and thus for a moment I feel connected on some level to an obituary's list of those who have been left behind.

Regardless of where a person started out or where they ended up, and regardless of how many mistakes they made or whether or not they had made peace with those they had hurt (or had been hurt by), the simple fact that they had lived means they are deserving of honor and dignity. The next time you're holding a newspaper, take a moment or two to read even just one stranger's obituary, if for no other reason than simply because they are worth it.

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In memory of Kenneth Hill, songwriter, carpenter, family man, who passed away peacefully on February 11, 2020, surrounded by his children, their spouses, and his grandchildren. Thank you, Kenny, for the bad jokes, the impromptu music lessons in your kitchen, and for being such a great father-in-law to my best friend. I'm still getting mileage out of the one you told me 18 years ago about the sandwich that walks into a bar and orders a drink.