Reading the obituaries and learning about life through death

Carl Reiner, an icon of comedy who passed away at age 98, frequently quipped about his age saying, "Every morning I pick up my newspaper, get the obituary section, and see if I'm listed. If I'm not, I have my breakfast." Every day is a good one for me (as I am still alive), and it starts off with reading the paper edition of the Star Tribune. It's part of my breakfast routine.

One of the most interesting sections of the paper is the obituaries. It's an honor to read about people's lives and learn about their diverse backgrounds and achievements. We have a running joke with some family and friends when there is an exceptionally long obituary wondering how much it costs to publish it. Like most people I wonder who will write mine and what will it say. It will not laud my cooking, but it might note my delicious knishes, my hole-in-one and my long career at the University of Minnesota. My family can rest easy that it will not be more than a couple of inches and won't be too costly. But I digress.

On Sunday, there were an astonishing 263 obituaries — the most I have seen in about a year when there were so many due to COVID-19. I read many of them, and it got me thinking about why I like to read them and what I have learned from the deceased's life stories.

As is more common these days, there were obits for people who have lived very long lives — 90 to over 100 years. One I read was for a nonagenarian, the 97-year-old father of one of my classmates. What an interesting life.

I chuckle at some obituaries, such as the one a few months ago for a gentleman that simply said "I died." That made me smile. People have amazing lives and simple lives.

Many have degrees from the University of Minnesota. Others learned a trade and worked at it their entire lives. Many grew up and stayed in Minnesota; some are transplants. They had interesting careers in business, education, health care, agriculture, the military and government. They were regular folks who worked behind the scenes. There are worldwide travelers, mountain climbers, bikers, fishermen and women, golfers, bakers, quilters, card players, youth sports coaches, singers, ballroom dancers, you name it— people have done it. On Sunday there was a long obituary about a test pilot who knew a Russian cosmonaut. I was impressed!

The biographies are about lives well-lived and surrounded by loving and supportive spouses and family. But too often you read about sadness and tragedy, like the couple who died together in a car accident on July 4th, or young people gone too soon. Those obituaries bring a tear to my eye as I think about the family and friends left behind to mourn their unexpected deaths.

What have I learned by reading obituaries? That no matter the person's achievements, the most important thing in the deceased's life was their love for their families and friends. I learned about generosity in death. For example, pet lovers want people to honor their memories by making donations to the Animal Humane Society. No offense to flowers, but mourners are directed to make donations to causes that mattered to the deceased: nonprofits, medical research and faith communities. Often the deceased wants you to just hug someone and be kind to others.

I've learned a lot by looking at the photos and the untold stories they tell. Handsome men in tuxedos — probably taken at a child's wedding. The woman holding a not-so-big fish but proud to have nabbed it just the same. The man in the Twins jersey who loved "his" team (and is probably bemoaning from heaven the lackluster 2021 Twins season). The retro high school senior photo taken when the deceased had their future ahead of them.

I learned that life is too short for most of us. No one lives forever; we all die — some sooner than later. Make each day count. Take up a hobby. Volunteer. Hug someone. Tell someone you love them. Be kind. Enjoy your breakfast.

Raleigh Kaminsky, who is retired from the University of Minnesota, lives in Plymouth.