A eulogy for obituaries

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The obituary is – or was  – a critical feature in newspaper publishing. It is now among the most abused.

A local daily illustrates: There were obituaries for a 24 year-old man who died on November 1 and for a 23 year-old man who died on December 2. Both had done well in school, enjoyed life, had many interests and hobbies, were popular, loved, and had many friends. Their large families, including grandparents, survive. Both were to be buried in cemeteries in north central Kansas.

On December 11, obituaries for a four year-old, a nine year-old, and three others, the oldest aged 35.

Throughout, no explanations why these young people died.

Nearly every obituary these days – but for victims of a grisly crime or horrific public disaster – omits a cause of death. The death itself often seems to escape clarity. Readers learn that a person gained his (or her) angel wings, or went to dance with the Lord, or went to be home with Jesus, or flew away to a heavenly place. The strongest implication is that they died. But the truth and reason of it – its tragedy, the loss, the void – is lost.

This cryptic virus has spread because most newspapers now charge for obituaries, one of the more vulgar if not predatory developments in American journalism; the apparent trade-off is to allow the family to provide the deceased’s obituary without the intercession of good reporting. This, apparently, releases the obligation for a newspaper to report the cause of death.

When someone is born he or she is given a place on this earth and in a family, one of great or limited affection, and they have people they adore and love and whom they worship. They have a place in the lives of others, and of people to whom they may give immeasurable fidelity and devotion. We have come to expect that they will have a chance to acquire certain experiences, to learn about good and evil, to be vigilant of the best things in our humanity, that humans are entitled to certain rights, to a basic dignity and respect. In the beginning there are the usual expectations, about school and learning in and out of the classroom, the codes layered among work and play, what money can and cannot buy, the importance of friends and trust and loyalty.

Among those experiences, later, is the sorry chance to talk about how a person’s life changes, about the real possibilities of love and loss, sorrow and pain, the inevitability of aging and death.

Not for these young people. They died too soon and we don’t know why.

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Whitley Austin, the late and legendary editor of The Salina Journal, long argued that every life has at least one event worth recording; everyone has at least one story for the telling, if only at his or her death.

Most obituaries remain conventional, uninspired. They may hide untold stories of special talent, unrivaled pursuits, longtime hobbies and more, all taken to the grave with little or no mention. Even the greatest tragedy, the death of an infant, will hold a glimmer of meaning worth more than a sentence. Alas, no newspaper, however flush with profits, has the staff or the time or the inclination to dig into the special events or tales of every soul delivered to its Maker. That few try any more, even occasionally, is another loss.

Survivors are often reluctant to reveal why or how a person died, but the omission is even more curious when the deceased is young – too young, say, for “old age” to be the assumption.

Cause of death can be a delicate matter given, say, a long and debilitating battle with Alzheimer’s or cancer; trickier yet if suicide is the cause. Even so, it is better for all concerned if a cause of death is reported simply, without dramatization or elaboration. It puts an end to rumors that otherwise might grow and fester.

Regarding the young who die, the need to know and report is even greater. Among life’s greatest cruelties is the death of a child; such a loss should never be dissolved without explanation.

Every life, from the first startled moments of infancy to the final breath of a long existence, has value, and every life has at least one event worth recording, one story for the telling, if only at his or her death. And no one is ever intended simply to disappear without reason.

 

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