Are obituaries obsolete?
During the visitation before my father’s funeral, a young guest looked around the crowded room and asked, “How do all these people know Ron is dead?”
I had to stifle my laughter at the blunt (and valid) question. For someone who had little experience with death, the scene must’ve looked beyond bizarre: groups of grown-ups gathered in various corners, speaking solemnly at a low volume. No one looked happy, despite the fact that everyone was dressed as if prepared for a party of some kind. I smiled and explained that when someone dies, their family usually writes something about it to go in the local newspaper. This way, old friends and distant family will have the chance to come and say goodbye. This was my inelegant way of describing obituaries to a child.
My interest in newspapers sparked when I was about 12 and a fascination with obituaries soon followed. Even now, as the newspaper industry continues to sink across Canada, people still read and write obituaries. Obituaries have an emotional (and, perhaps social) weight that somehow endures. Unless someone is gunning for their name in The New York Times, wedding and engagement announcements are antiquated. Yet, death announcements feel almost mandatory. That’s not to say the nature of obituaries hasn’t changed over the years. Overall, they’re less formal and more personal than once they were; the standard ‘obituary template’ seems to becoming irrelevant.
Earlier this year, The Conversation published an article detailing how people are increasingly mentioning pets in obituaries. What’s more, it’s become common for people to contribute to – or even entirely write – their obituaries before they die. These self-penned pieces are often touching; for example, Retired New York firefighter Edward Thomas Ryan used his obituary as his final opportunity to come out as gay. Some are humorous: take Kathleen Hearn’s obit, for example, which includes her witty line: It pains me to admit it, but apparently, I have passed away … I now will check the obituaries and finally see my name there.
Looking back, I wish I’d been a little braver when the time came to memorialize my own dad. Although writing and editing were part of my job, I struggled to help with any flair or sentimental touches. I sat on the floor with my mother while we, along with my brother, sifted through photo albums and wondered aloud what we should include in the obituary. To sum up almost 59 years in a mere 600 words felt laughable.
“Why do people always say, ‘we are deeply saddened’?” Mom asked, a pencil in her hand. “Why not just say ‘we are very sad’?”
In the end, Dad’s obituary was a standard one (and I’ve written about him many times since), but it did its job. The obit notified people of his death through Nova Scotia and Newfoundland papers, as well as the funeral home’s website.
But herein lies the problem: while obituaries may feel like a rite of passage, they are certainly not a right. Having an obituary published in print can cost hundreds of dollars. According to The Halifax Examiner, “the cost of a concise obituary containing a small photo and information about the surviving family members and funeral arrangements often ranges between $500 to $800” in Saltwire newspapers such as The Chronicle Herald. Many community members were flabbergasted, then, when Saltwire put its online obituaries behind a paywall in November last year. People were paying upwards of $800 for an obit and couldn’t even send a link to a cousin if they didn’t have a subscription.
In response to this decision, I launched a Wordpress site called Nova Scotia Obituaries in hopes it would become a pay-what-you-can resource for people who can’t afford to submit an obituary the traditional way. The project never quite took off—perhaps because people found other resources, or perhaps social media has finally taken over death announcements the way it’s taken over every other section of the newspaper.
In any case, it’s hard to say what the future holds for the obituary tradition. My chest tightens when I think about it. It feels a little bit like grief.
