A newspaper is delivered to our house every week. It’s one of those free papers that covers all things local from sport, municipal votes, upcoming festivals, a police blotter, letters to the editor. There’s always a glossy real estate insert. The back page covers the local sports teams.
I enjoy flipping through it because it informs me about local news that the internet and larger news organizations ignore. There’s not much money in newspapers anymore, but these small newspapers soldier on. There’s a whole classified section at the back advertising plumbers, injury lawyers, immigration help, language courses, etc. that I’m sure pays the bills.
There’s also an obituary section, and I’ve made a habit of reading through them. The other day I read about someone who was born in Italy and moved across the globe in her twenties, met her husband, and built a whole new life on a faraway continent. When she died, she left behind children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Others died young and sadly left young families and friends behind.
Death notices are not something that gets a lot of clicks during our daily internet browsing between email, Twitter, and Instagram, so I’m grateful I get to read about people’s lives written by those who loved them.
The obits gently remind me that death is part of all of our communities, and it doesn’t discriminate. It’s coming for all of us, and we aren’t getting out of here alive.