You’ve probably heard that old saying, the one where a man or woman notes, “I read the obituaries first thing every morning to see if I should get out of bed.” I think the way you respond to this quaintness indicates where you are in life.
As a teenager, I didn’t even really understand what obituaries were, so the saying itself was beyond my comprehension. In my twenties and thirties, I understood it intellectually but still never turned to that page in the local newspaper. I was more interested in the style page and the entertainment section.
In my forties and fifties, a subtle shift occurred. I began reading the Sunday obituaries in the Chicago Tribune because it was one way of noting the passing scene. That newspaper, and possibly others, print a recap each Sunday of those influential people who have died the previous seven days. I found it to be a Who’s Who of notoriety, as well as being a Who’s Who of who’s dead.
Most recently, I’ve taken to reading the obits, although not with the idea of determining whether I should get out of bed each morning. Rather, I’m taken with the local paper’s slant on peoples’ passing on. Bear in mind, I no longer live in Chicago where obituaries stick to the facts, thanks to the cost of adding too many words.
But here in St. Joseph, Michigan, obituaries tend toward the flowery and the detailed. So-and-so is said to have gone to the arms of his or her Lord, to be resting in the bosom of Heaven, to have been called home. After the opening joyous statement, there follows a rather lengthy description of the deceased’s history, extended family, and other interests. Finally, there is information about how to send a memorial or otherwise honor the deceased.
I find it rather touching that a newspaper takes time (although possibly it charges just like the Chicago Tribune does) to sketch the deceased life in gentle words. And, while I don’t check the obits for my own demise, I appreciate that when it eventually happens the local paper will take note in such a caring way.
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