Here Lies
by
Sam Loschiavo
Do those who read obituaries ever wonder where all the bad people are? I have yet to see a critical comment in a death notice or hear a disparaging word in a eulogy. I am sure that most people who die are average, decent types who probably deserve the kind tributes in their obituaries, which incidentally, they should have received while they were still alive. But surely everybody can't be as blemish-free as their obituaries would suggest.
For example, we may read the praises of someone who died in an automobile accident. But we see no reference to the fact that the person had a blood alcohol level two or three times the legal limit and had driven into the path of an oncoming vehicle thereby causing the death or injury of innocent victims.
There are times when I feel that I must be at the wrong funeral service as I hear the clergyman expound on the exemplary life led by the deceased, even though it was common knowledge that while he was alive he had been a scoundrel. I dare say that nary a critical comment is made at the funeral service of some deceased don of a Mafia family. If the mountains of flowers, the elaborate service and eulogy, and the outpouring of emotion by family and friends may be used as criteria, one might surmise that the dearly beloved was most certainly heaven-bound. Clothed in the armor of absolution and forgiveness, the soaring spirit no longer would be held accountable for the devastation left behind: broken lives, broken homes, abuse, prostitution, and addiction as the result of drugs provided by this creature whose family has fabricated the eloquent eulogy.
Why do I have such an interest in obituaries? At one time I was more interested in the news, comics and sports scores. In the alumni journal I would look at the marriage and birth columns to see who of my peers had married or started a family. As I approach the twilight of my life I am becoming more interested in the obituary columns to learn who of my contemporaries has left this earthly existence. I regret to say that I am seeing more and more names that I recognize.
But to get back to truth in dying. Wouldn't it be candidly refreshing to read in someone's obituary that he had been a rum runner in the prohibition era, or a mechanic hired to soup up the bootleggers' cars so they could outrace the feds? How about a frank disclosure that the highly respected bank manager had foreclosed on many farms during the depression? There is more than one reason to refer to that period as the 'dirty thirties'. Would it be shameful to say in an obituary that the person during her youth had gone into domestic service to contribute to the family's income, thus avoiding being forced to seek public assistance? In my opinion, such a disclosure should be a source of pride.
Why do we not see derogatory comments about the deceased when we read their obituaries? I suppose that human nature or superstition dictates that we must not speak ill of the dead. Consequently, the skeletons remain in the closet and the sins are buried with the body. As the title of this tongue-in-cheek story suggests, "Here lies".