Reading the fine print

Why even a blurb matters

I had only hours’ notice that my mother was about to succumb to pulmonary fibrosis,(I thought we had many months left) and during the day I spent by her bedside as she drifted toward the universe, I began writing her obituary in my head. I needed the world to know who my mother was and why we loved her so much and why our world would never be the same without her.

On the cold December morning after she died, I got the approval from my siblings and turned in my final obit draft to the funeral home. Once published, I shared it on social media for friends and family to read.

A preview of my mother, Robin’s, obituary from December 2024.

One friend commented on my post something to the effect of “I miss her, and I never even met her.”

That comment stuck with me because it meant my message had done exactly what I was hoping. My mom was an interesting, funny, thoughtful, eccentric woman; I wanted to recap her life in a way that resonated with others. I wanted everyone to see what we saw and to mourn alongside us if they could. I wanted them to be jealous that we had the privilege of knowing her, if that makes sense.

Having had the honor of writing my mother’s farewell, I got to thinking about the many obituaries that have crossed my desk as a newspaper editor.

There was the gal married for over 60 years, who’d met her husband at a high school dance. The gentleman who met his future wife on a blind date and found and married her upon his return to the U.S. after a tour in WWII. One grandma had notably watched every single episode of Jeopardy, and the family lovingly paid tribute to that fun quirk by listing the former host, Alex Trebek, as having preceded her in death.

I’ve seen so many glimpses of folks’ lives just by having to sift through all of our obits for typos and such.

Let me tell you, though, I love, LOVE reading about these people. The same way my friend said she missed my mom just by reading her obit, I grieve for the families whose relatives I read about.

Some of the obits are short and sweet; some are super wordy and tell a more robust story. Both are worthy of my time.

I also find myself following along with obits published exclusively on funeral homes’ websites and social media pages.

It was my hope that people who didn’t know my mom could at least feel a twinge of grief on our behalf. And I want to reciprocate that for folks whose loved one has also passed.

I want to hear about your great aunt’s apple pie. I want to know that your dad tinkered with old cars. I want to read about the fun you had with your grandma on family vacations. I want to celebrate strangers for the memories passed down to other people.

Grief makes us all kindred in a way. We all long for someone we’re missing. We all ache for a point in time that turned out to be a core memory. We all experience it at some point — be it a parent, grandparent, friend, neighbor, or pet.

Grief is a common bond all of humanity shares. Unfortunately, we almost all know loss.

Maybe it’s a bit grim reading through obits as part of my job, but I’d argue it’s kind of a highlight of my day. I get to see how folks are celebrating the lives of their friends and family. I get a glimpse of the best and most interesting parts of people’s lives. Families celebrate those moments, and I soak it all in as a reader.

It’s enlightening and makes me want to leave my own interesting and love-laden obituary behind (hopefully when I’m well into my hundreds.)

AI envisioned art after having been given a prompt by the author.

Really, though, I read them because they’re meant for reading. The people folks have left behind want nothing more than to have their loved one remembered, and taking ink to paper, as it were, is the most traditional way of doing so.

Whether it’s published in print or on a Facebook page, the words are no less poignant. The dashes between the years lived are no less important.

The message is the same as what I wanted for my mother. She is loved. She is missed. She is important. And my world spins a different way without her.

If you have an extra couple of minutes in your day, I invite you to read your local obituaries and immerse yourself in history you didn’t know was there. Get to know a family’s sorrow in the most lovely of ways.

Read the send-off of another human who meant something to the planet.

It’s worth your time, I promise. You’ll hope someone does the same for you when it’s your time (also when you’re well into your hundreds, hopefully!)

Lisa Grouette is a proud member of the Iowa Writers Collaborative, a group of Iowa writers, authors, and content producers. If you enjoy hearing from Iowa voices, please consider helping to broaden their reach with a paid subscription. Your support goes a long way.