You read….what?!
Here we go. Introducing you to some unexpected daily teachers of mine. The obituaries. Stop, don’t run away! Not morbid! Downright heartwarming, to tell you the truth. Well, hell, to be truthful, there I am with my daily morning coffee, perusing the obituaries in The New York Times. My obituary teachers-of-the-day nurture my life in such contrast to our often screaming headlines.
My esteemed, but very ordinary obituary teachers provide me a humanizing roadmap, one that models permission to be, of all people, myself. Unvarnished me. I love obituaries for folks who’ve been in intentional relationship with the world in small, caring, and often minuscule ways. Living their lives not on a huge Richter scale of accomplishment, but on the day-to-day presence of being uniquely, and caringly, just themselves. That’s more than enough.
Some favorites:
“Barbara Denver made the world’s best fudge. Yes, she accomplished many other things, but the quality of her fudge cannot be overstated.”
“Susan is remembered for her generous hospitality, quick wit, and ability to order fondue in English, French, German and Swiss German.”
“With his gifted hands, Pete fixed cars, vacuums, clocks, lawnmowers, washing machines and dryers, just to name a few. His backyard was the junk yard of Sanford and Son, and many people passing through his life benefited as a result.”
My obituary teachers show me that our unique, though putatively, small presence and actions, in the world spread light. Heck, I’m all for spreading light of whatever amount. Aren’t you?
Oh, wait, wait! I’ve been so overcome by admiration for my teachers that I completely forgot to toast the representations of simple humanity in their death notices. In juxtaposition to their identified small-scale goodnesses, contemplating a future obituary for myself makes it cringeworthy to even consider behaviors such as the following:
“Jan was known for shaming people.”
“Jan was a stellar keyboard warrior who excelled at taking others down in social media.”
Not ever!
I’m grateful for the ordinary gifts of small-sized humanity that obituaries continue to seed among those of us still growing into our fullness. Huzzahs!
A revivified (pun intended) post, on obituaries, from May 4, 2025