I see dead people

I see dead people. Often. In our local newspaper. I don’t know why, but quite some time ago our local paper decided that purely prose obituaries were not sufficient. Now most all obituaries appear with a photograph of the deceased. Most of the photos seem reasonable enough, corresponding roughly to the age at which the person died. But it can be disconcerting to read about someone’s death at ninety or so, when the picture shows them as a 16 year-old. I know, that is just being picky. I have never really read obituaries, and, in fact, I don’t read them now, but adding the pictures has made them more noticeable. What I find to be most interesting is the fact that so few people die. The vast majority of people featured in the obituaries are rarely said to have done much of anything except “passed away.” I have no idea how the phrase “passed away” became the pretty much typical explanation for people dying. Of course you have no idea where they passed to, just that it is away. Perhaps this is so useful because it is so non-judgmental, the person could have passed away into anywhere. While you sometimes see that someone has been “called to heaven,” or even “called to Jesus,” you never see an obituary that says someone was “called to Satan,” or “called to Lucifer.” Passed away seems to be the safest description of someone’s demise and clearly has become the cultural preference for such reports. The relatively few persons who are not described as having passed away are often said to have “gone to eternal rest,” or “called home to heaven,” or having “answered Jesus’s call,” or sometimes, “entered into eternal rest.” It does happen occasionally that someone is reported to have died, but this is rare. In some cases it doesn’t specify that the individual has died, passed away, gone to heaven, or whatever. You just assume they have because their picture appears on the obituary page. I don’t exactly understand putting dead people’s photographs in the paper. Maybe this is a feeble attempt at immortality, especially nowadays as there are archives upon archives and nothing much ever completely disappears. I, for one, do not want my picture put in the paper when I die. Indeed, I don’t even want an obituary. Because we are so faithful to our cultural traditions, no one ever speaks badly of the dead. Thus the obituaries are completely non-objective and do not really describe the truth of the deceased. I don’t know how many funerals you have attended, and I no longer attend such events, but I know of cases where the deceased, not being a churchgoer, having to have a funeral, has a preacher recite a few words about him or her. The preacher gets this information in a three or four minute interview with someone who knew the person, and then they “wing it,” in such a way that the person doesn’t even faintly resemble who they were. When I experienced this strange practice was when I stopped attending funerals. I don’t attend weddings either as I find them too similar to funerals with respect to the reality of the respective events. Given the durability of marriages in the U.S. you might as well go to the casino and roll the dice for a while. I am reminded of a joke about the death of a gambler. Some of his friends were attending the church service and listening to the preacher. He said something to the effect that “Arnold hasn’t really died, he’s just passed on to another….Before he could finish a voice from the back of the room said, “8 to 5 he’s dead.”

You would never hear, nor would you ever expect to hear, someone say, so-and-so has left us for we don’t know where, where they will probably continue to be the the cranky, nasty, impossible person they were before their demise. Nor would you ever hear, so-and-so has gone straight to hell, and he/she deserved it. When my time comes I don’t want any pictures, sermons, or obituaries, not even a funeral. Just cremate me in the cheapest way possible. I want to go to the “happy hunting ground.” No, not really, I guess I would prefer eternal peace (if there is peace anywhere, which I am beginning to doubt). Just remember that life is a terminal condition transmitted by sex, and be prepared for anything (or, more probably, nothing). Ciao.

I am trying very hard not to believe that Barack Obama is another religious nutcase. All this talk about Jesus is making me nervous. Come on, Obama, tell us what you are going to do to fix the disaster you are about to inherit, and keep your relations with the supernatural to yourself.

LKBIQ:
“’I meant,’ said Ipslore bitterly, ‘what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?’
Death thought about it.
‘Cats,’ he said eventually. ‘Cats are nice.’”
Terry Pratchett