Kansas Snapshots by Gloria Freeland - June 6, 2025

Dealing with death

After becoming comfortably numb from a supper of husband Art's homemade chicken noodle soup, we retired to see what TV fare we could find. Art's always inclined to look for the unusual, and with full tummies having already lowered the bar for what was acceptable, we settled on a hospital show from the UK about women giving birth. However, we weren't so sated as to continue with the follow-up program focused on those who have twins, triplets and higher numbers!

But seeing all those newborns squawking away at being thrust into this cold cruel world made me think of the other end of their journey, i.e., death! Perhaps I was primed to travel this mental path after visiting our friends in Berlin ... or more accurately, being unable to visit one of them. This was our first trip since the death of Bärbel, our friend of 30-plus years.

Another reason could be something friend Lou said a few weeks ago during a gathering of some of my gal pals. She mentioned she was considering writing her own obituary since she didn't have children to know what she had accomplished in life. "Who knows?" she said, "Maybe these details will make one of my yet-to-be-born relatives think, 'Wow, I wish I would have known her.'"

I know some people consider thoughts about death somewhat creepy or depressing or pathological, but that could just be our culture telling us to look at it that way, rather than what it is - an integral companion to being alive. Lou said her twin brother had written his obituary and she looked upon it as a gift because it included details she and her siblings didn't know.

Of course, we family history types think about death quite a bit. As an event, it's one third of life's big-three bookmarks: DOB, DOM, and DOD - dates of birth, marriage and death - the same trio journalists focus on. I'll confess I have always found it sad to read an obituary with only a paragraph or two about a person’s long life. Isn't the most boring person more interesting than that? I cringe when I see errors in names, dates, and life accomplishments. But the norm of having someone else write a person's obituary almost guarantees such mistakes.

It was not always so. The latter part of the 19th century was a time when many Americans had been born abroad, grew up in places far removed from where they lived in old age, or both. This meant their children and friends weren't familiar with the earlier circumstances of his or her life. So while not common, it wasn't considered odd to pen your own obituary.

When Art's great-grandfather's brother died in 1912, his obituary appeared in the local newspaper with the introductory line: "Obituary of Evan Vaughan as written by himself." It contained the usual elements of important dates and family relationships. But it also included an insight that a survivor would be unlikely to pen: "I fear neither devils, hobgoblins, nor ghosts. I trust my soul with the Almighty wise God who gave it."

His comfort with the matter of his passing is revealed in the line: "It is my wish that this paper be read by Benjamin F. Strong at the beginning of my funeral service, if there be any." He also named those he wanted to be his pallbearers and then noted: " ... and if any cannot so serve, their places be filled by some other of my young friends ..."

Of course, having people write their own obituaries also opens the door for errors arising from a memory less reliable than it once was and at a time when the circumstances of childhood are distant. In Evan's case, his birth year was incorrect.

A person who writes his own obituary might also yield to the temptation to compose a "new-and-improved" life story. However, this often occurs even when others do the deed. I feel it is a bit disrespectful for a surviving spouses to choose to omit their partners' previous marriages.

There is certainly more to death than the obit, and different folks deal with that reality in very different ways. Some don’t want to deal with it at all, as if not talking about it will make it go away. But it's a subject both Art's and my family have been pretty candid about. Before my mom's scheduled mastectomy, she pointed to a nearby envelope and said it contained her obituary and wishes for her funeral. She included the hymns and Bible verses she wanted at her memorial service.

She survived, but developed serious heart issues four years later. She surprised us during a routine doctor's visit. Before her doctor began, she said in a very calm and even tone that she wanted to thank him for all the years of great care he had given her and wanted him to know that as she doubted she would be seeing him again. Apparently her candor was unusual as Doc was temporarily speechless - a decidedly rare reaction for him. When he found his footing, he thanked her for having been such a good patient.

When Art's mom Donna was in her late 90s, they were out one day on a drive when she remarked she'd like to see the progress being made on a local bridge renovation. The best viewing point was from a nearby cemetery, so Art drove there. After inspecting the work, Donna said, "OK, let's get outta here. I'll be here soon enough!"

Often she would accompany Art on his genealogy jaunts. Sometimes after a trip to a cemetery, she would pull out the contract she and husband Tom had bought for themselves and reiterate that it was fully paid and to not allow the cemetery people to charge to bury her. Always the frugal one, the thought of her own death bothered her less than the thought of getting ripped off.

I like our mothers' and Evan's matter-of-fact way of dealing with death. Perhaps we could all learn from their examples.