Obituaries

I read obituaries every day. I have since I was in my twenties. I think of them as little stories, very, very short novels or Haiku lives. But recently I’ve been keeping score of how many of the regional dead are in their late 50’s or early 60’s—our ages—me and John.

I think again—“People my age and John’s age die every day.” And they are not extraordinary deaths, just regular ones from illness and disease and cancers.

I try to use this in a positive way. To remind myself to live my life—mine and not someone else’s idea of my life. To choose my day and –maybe I can’t completely choose what’s in that day --but to choose my attitude about that stuff. To include more of what does matter to me in this day and less of what doesn’t.

I don’t want to die on the day that I was obsessed with who didn’t like me or on the day that I kept trying to please someone else.

Obituaries

I have always read obituaries. I knew, even as a kid, that they were little stories. Now, as an adult I know they are often mystery stories. The writer is rarely the subject. Someone else is telling his or her version of the main character’s story. So, when reading them, I wonder at the focus, proportion and how reality would hold up if we could later interview the dead person.

The past few weeks I have read more closely noticing how many deaths in our region are of people under 65. I tell myself: please notice this; please live your life. None mention the fear at work or the love of clothes. One this week said “he had a perfect marriage” and I said “Uh oh” and read that one to John. He said, “Uh oh”. His marriage was described as perfect until a few years ago when he walked away admitting to himself how deeply unhappy he had been all those years.

So we know it is entirely possible that the final scribe, the writer of our obituaries, might describe a person they only know through random details: He always checked the box scores first thing in the morning. She loved to shop. She was a tireless volunteer. He was crazy about his car tending to it for hours every weekend. Who would know that these honorable behaviors masked unhappiness and avoidance of something or someone?

Who will know us when we die? It’s hard enough to know ourselves when we live. To get still enough to listen deeply to our own insides. We should be so tender with these fragile human lives, ours and the dead people in those little stories.

It's Not a Battle

I have always been a reader of obituaries. Maybe I always knew I’d live in a surround of death. Or maybe I always loved the snapshot portraits of people thru the lens of their death. Now, since John’s cancer began I read them also to see the mentions of cancer, of colon cancer, of whether the illnesses were short or long. I see how many die after a “Battle”, “Brave Battle, or “Courageous Battle” with cancer.

Does no one have the courage to refuse a battle? To surrender willingly? To hand over the territory or treasure without a fight?

But then I remember: in most cases these death notices are written by the survivors, by those who watched what they think of as a “battle”. How many times was it not a battle but just doing the next thing? Whose military language is this and why is it necessary to talk about fighting, battles, enemies and winning and losing when this is life and death. We get both. One isn’t a win and the other a loss. Humans live and then die. That’s the whole package and it’s a “win-win.”

I have this same cranky annoyance when I hear advocates talk about “curing cancer”. I mean, if we do will all the people who die of cancer get to stay alive forever and ever? No, they would then get to die of something else. In most cases something more awful than cancer. We will die. Why is that so hard to grasp?

Writing Obituaries

I was telling my friend Leslie last night of my fear that his obituary will name only his wife and trying to anticipate what that might feel like someday. But then we decided that we needed to write our own obituaries. So we agreed that we need to be able to complete this:

She is survived by WHOM? And she was most proud of her work on WHAT? Her friends will remember her for her love of WHAT? But she most enjoyed WHAT? In our community she was appreciated for WHAT? All of her life she was deeply committed to WHAT?