So, the family members were going through photos of the deceased, looking for an appropriate one for the obit, and they picked ... this one.
Well okay then!
Put some clothes on, grandma. Sheesh.
Showing posts with label Obits. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Obits. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 05, 2015
In the obits
So, the family members were going through photos of the deceased, looking for an appropriate one for the obit, and they picked ... this one.
Well okay then!
Put some clothes on, grandma. Sheesh.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Shout it out
I was in the bank last Saturday morning, and there was a little old lady ahead of me in line. She was very small, and crippled up, but she was chatting merrily with a young man, twenty-ish, who I assumed was a grandson helping her with her errands.
The teller called them up to the counter.
"I have A LOT OF STUFF TO TAKE CARE OF TODAY", the old lady said, loud enough so everyone in the bank, including people in line at the drive-thru, I'm sure, could hear.
"They took my husband off life support yesterday!" she crowed. "HE'S DEAD NOW!"
Wellll, THAT got everybody's attention right quick.
"Yep, HE'S DEAD!" she said. She didn't seem sad, or even shell-shocked. She was downright chirpy. "Now I have to figure out how to get his social security transferred to me. And I've got to switch over all the bank accounts, because they took him off life support yesterday, and NOW HE'S DEAD!"
At this point the people in line were looking everywhere except at this woman. We were intently studying the walls, the ceiling, our cell phones, ANYTHING to avoid looking at the little old lady who was merrily yelling about the death of her husband. In my case, it was because I knew that if I looked right at her I might bust out laughing, although I certainly can't speak for the motives of the rest of the people in line.
The teller said something to her that I couldn't hear because THE TELLER WASN'T YELLING, and the little old lady was directed to someone in a cubicle, who promptly got the "My husband was taken off life support yesterday and NOW HE'S DEAD!" treatment. I could hear the cubicle worker murmuring about death certificates and proper procedure and blahblahblah, but I'm not sure if the old lady was paying attention, because she was busy making sure that everyone knew that her husband? WAS DEAD!
Rest in peace, dude, whoever you are. Don't worry about your wife - I'm pretty sure she's gonna be okay.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
No. Just No.
If a loved one dies, and this is the only photo that you can find to submit for publication with the obituary?
Just skip it, okay? Jeezus Christ.
I've discussed this before. If your deceased relative was so disconnected from the rest of the family that NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON can cough up a good photo of him/her,. just don't bother. It's not like the dead guy cares.
Tuesday, September 04, 2012
Eccentric, also known as "asshole"
Do you ever read an obit and are not sure if the person/people who wrote it liked the person who died or not?
"(Insert name here) decided to end his life in the place he loved best: his home and sanctuary in the (insert town name) wood. Born in the Bronx, he spent his early years negotiating difficult circumstances with defiance, energy, and determination: jumping off the docks into the river, visiting Edgewater and smelling the vibrant life there, catching trains and riding the length of Manhattan Island, sleeping on rooftops and trying to find ways to survive. He was always proud to be a Bronx native; one of the family residences on Bruckner Boulevard was razed to make way for the Triboro Bridge. He spent too many of his teen and young adult years bouncing from institution to institution, struggling with his addictions and mental health issues. Sometime in the 1970s, his brother Frank convinced him to try living in (town name). After many therapeutic interventions and 12-step meetings, Dennis found life-long sobriety in August 1980. In 1982, he moved to a remarkable retreat and safe place in the woods overlooking the (name) River. He loved living there; he could listen to and feed the birds, cut firewood with an old-fashioned handsaw, try to find ways to live with his many ghosts, demons, hopes, and his firm moral and spiritual code. Dennis was a bundle of complexity and contradictions: incredibly smart yet often irrational, he was a charming and charismatic child-like spirit who could quickly turn angry and afraid. He possessed a searing intensity and determination yet often couldn't complete the simplest tasks. He felt that he had a very limited capacity to "be in the world," as he would say; he characterized himself as a hermit, a cowboy, a spiritual seeker, a rebel, a recluse—but never as a comfortable member of society. No amount of rational conversation or pleas could change his beliefs. He was doggedly determined to live his life on his own terms in the best ways that he could. He lived alone since 1996, although he had a close, long-time friend who tried to help him and care for him, as well as relatives, neighbors, and others with whom he developed superficial but deeply important relationships. Although he depended on minimal social services for his very basic needs, he never wanted to feel indebted to any person, agency, or government. So despite his meager resources, he paid enormous interest to clear an old loan for an aborted semester at college circa 1980. Because he knew that cigarettes were destroying his health, he quit smoking forever in 1997. In fact, other than a very rare round of antibiotics and occasional OTC pain-relievers, he shunned all medications. If he had accepted help and used prescription anti-depressants or other medications to help him cope with his mental and emotional illnesses, he might still be alive. But he chose his path carefully and deliberately. He saved enough money to pre-pay for his final arrangements because he did not want to burden us with those details of his death. Dennis loved so much about his life: the full moon, the changing seasons, the river, the birds and rabbits and deer and hawks. Yet he carried on a relentless battle against the flying squirrels who reside in the attic and the rodents who pilfer bird feed. Dennis adored 50s bebop and rock, classic cowboy movies and TV shows; he also venerated series such as The Sopranos and Deadwood. He tilted at too many windmills for too long, and he refused to concede a defeat that would have been enormous if he had lived to the point where he could no longer care for himself. Because he wanted a simple, unencumbered life and wanted to live as frugally as possible, he gave up car ownership many years ago; he rode his bicycle to the Forks—in all weather--for his newspapers, milk, bread, and his mail. For several years until shortly before his death, he depended on the EC County Rural service to take him to a grocery store so he could buy what he needed to survive. Dennis so appreciated the lifeline that the EC Country dispatchers and drivers provided. He came to see them as friends and he valued his interactions with them. When the powers that be decided that EC County routes would be almost eliminated (not "cost-efficient" to provide essential services to the most needy among us), Dennis was shaken and scared because one of his few safety nets had been severed. We will never know why he chose to end his life when he did; we know that a constellation of forces contributed. But he would want folks to know that he did all that he could to live and die on his terms. He often quoted the Bible - "let the dead bury the dead"— so he did not want us to mourn him or memorialize him publicly. We hope that he would understand why we are publishing this obituary as a way of honoring and remembering him. Special thanks and deep gratitude to Dennis' neighbors, and to the people who helped him survive as long and well as he did, especially the dispatchers and drivers of EC Country. Thanks to the first responders, especially the State Police investigators, and to Tim and Donna of the (Name) Funeral Home, who helped us through these horrible first days. In lieu of flowers, consider donating to the Independence Center, the EC Country bus service, or a mental health or suicide-prevention organization. If you cannot contribute, please take time to look up at a full-moon or take a walk in the woods or provide a helping hand to someone who needs it."
Okay, (a) way too long; (b) an obituary is not the place to bitch about bus service; (c) he SAID he did not want to be publicly memorialized. Way to go, buddies! You just couldn't resist getting in one last dig at the bus service, couldya?
Sounds like an eccentric (read: "pain in the ass") old dude who drove the people who tried to help him nuts. I've known a few of those.
"(Insert name here) decided to end his life in the place he loved best: his home and sanctuary in the (insert town name) wood. Born in the Bronx, he spent his early years negotiating difficult circumstances with defiance, energy, and determination: jumping off the docks into the river, visiting Edgewater and smelling the vibrant life there, catching trains and riding the length of Manhattan Island, sleeping on rooftops and trying to find ways to survive. He was always proud to be a Bronx native; one of the family residences on Bruckner Boulevard was razed to make way for the Triboro Bridge. He spent too many of his teen and young adult years bouncing from institution to institution, struggling with his addictions and mental health issues. Sometime in the 1970s, his brother Frank convinced him to try living in (town name). After many therapeutic interventions and 12-step meetings, Dennis found life-long sobriety in August 1980. In 1982, he moved to a remarkable retreat and safe place in the woods overlooking the (name) River. He loved living there; he could listen to and feed the birds, cut firewood with an old-fashioned handsaw, try to find ways to live with his many ghosts, demons, hopes, and his firm moral and spiritual code. Dennis was a bundle of complexity and contradictions: incredibly smart yet often irrational, he was a charming and charismatic child-like spirit who could quickly turn angry and afraid. He possessed a searing intensity and determination yet often couldn't complete the simplest tasks. He felt that he had a very limited capacity to "be in the world," as he would say; he characterized himself as a hermit, a cowboy, a spiritual seeker, a rebel, a recluse—but never as a comfortable member of society. No amount of rational conversation or pleas could change his beliefs. He was doggedly determined to live his life on his own terms in the best ways that he could. He lived alone since 1996, although he had a close, long-time friend who tried to help him and care for him, as well as relatives, neighbors, and others with whom he developed superficial but deeply important relationships. Although he depended on minimal social services for his very basic needs, he never wanted to feel indebted to any person, agency, or government. So despite his meager resources, he paid enormous interest to clear an old loan for an aborted semester at college circa 1980. Because he knew that cigarettes were destroying his health, he quit smoking forever in 1997. In fact, other than a very rare round of antibiotics and occasional OTC pain-relievers, he shunned all medications. If he had accepted help and used prescription anti-depressants or other medications to help him cope with his mental and emotional illnesses, he might still be alive. But he chose his path carefully and deliberately. He saved enough money to pre-pay for his final arrangements because he did not want to burden us with those details of his death. Dennis loved so much about his life: the full moon, the changing seasons, the river, the birds and rabbits and deer and hawks. Yet he carried on a relentless battle against the flying squirrels who reside in the attic and the rodents who pilfer bird feed. Dennis adored 50s bebop and rock, classic cowboy movies and TV shows; he also venerated series such as The Sopranos and Deadwood. He tilted at too many windmills for too long, and he refused to concede a defeat that would have been enormous if he had lived to the point where he could no longer care for himself. Because he wanted a simple, unencumbered life and wanted to live as frugally as possible, he gave up car ownership many years ago; he rode his bicycle to the Forks—in all weather--for his newspapers, milk, bread, and his mail. For several years until shortly before his death, he depended on the EC County Rural service to take him to a grocery store so he could buy what he needed to survive. Dennis so appreciated the lifeline that the EC Country dispatchers and drivers provided. He came to see them as friends and he valued his interactions with them. When the powers that be decided that EC County routes would be almost eliminated (not "cost-efficient" to provide essential services to the most needy among us), Dennis was shaken and scared because one of his few safety nets had been severed. We will never know why he chose to end his life when he did; we know that a constellation of forces contributed. But he would want folks to know that he did all that he could to live and die on his terms. He often quoted the Bible - "let the dead bury the dead"— so he did not want us to mourn him or memorialize him publicly. We hope that he would understand why we are publishing this obituary as a way of honoring and remembering him. Special thanks and deep gratitude to Dennis' neighbors, and to the people who helped him survive as long and well as he did, especially the dispatchers and drivers of EC Country. Thanks to the first responders, especially the State Police investigators, and to Tim and Donna of the (Name) Funeral Home, who helped us through these horrible first days. In lieu of flowers, consider donating to the Independence Center, the EC Country bus service, or a mental health or suicide-prevention organization. If you cannot contribute, please take time to look up at a full-moon or take a walk in the woods or provide a helping hand to someone who needs it."
Okay, (a) way too long; (b) an obituary is not the place to bitch about bus service; (c) he SAID he did not want to be publicly memorialized. Way to go, buddies! You just couldn't resist getting in one last dig at the bus service, couldya?
Sounds like an eccentric (read: "pain in the ass") old dude who drove the people who tried to help him nuts. I've known a few of those.
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
Here I go, being all inSENsitive again
Pic from a recent local obit:
So, who died?
I'm sorry, but I can't go along with this shit. Not unless they did some kind of whack-ass sacrificial pyre in the backyard, and the dogs went with him.
Oh, there are LOTS of things that bother me about obit photos. The ones where the subject has been cropped out of a larger picture; you can tell because he's got a phantom hand on his shoulder. The ones that are out-of-focus, or were taken several years ago., or were obviously the only photo anybody could find of the dude.
You know what? If nobody gave enough of a shit about the dude to snap a decent photo of him in the last twenty years, chances are nobody's mourning him too awful hard. Just skip the photo.
And oh, man, I was was reading one the other day that read, "He passed (passed what? Gas? Final exams?) at his home ... while playing hymns on his piano." My, my, my. Aren't WE a tad bit holier-than-thou? They shoulda added, "And then he went STRAIGHT to heaven, where God loves him BEST." Jeez.
Oh boy, and one more thing. A line like this - " In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to a charity of your choice in Marion's name." - is tasteful. A line like this - "Donations are being collected to help defray the financial needs of the family." - is AWFUL. DO NOT GET ME STARTED. THROW A SMALLER FUNERAL, PEOPLE.
So, who died?
I'm sorry, but I can't go along with this shit. Not unless they did some kind of whack-ass sacrificial pyre in the backyard, and the dogs went with him.
Oh, there are LOTS of things that bother me about obit photos. The ones where the subject has been cropped out of a larger picture; you can tell because he's got a phantom hand on his shoulder. The ones that are out-of-focus, or were taken several years ago., or were obviously the only photo anybody could find of the dude.
You know what? If nobody gave enough of a shit about the dude to snap a decent photo of him in the last twenty years, chances are nobody's mourning him too awful hard. Just skip the photo.
And oh, man, I was was reading one the other day that read, "He passed (passed what? Gas? Final exams?) at his home ... while playing hymns on his piano." My, my, my. Aren't WE a tad bit holier-than-thou? They shoulda added, "And then he went STRAIGHT to heaven, where God loves him BEST." Jeez.
Oh boy, and one more thing. A line like this - " In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to a charity of your choice in Marion's name." - is tasteful. A line like this - "Donations are being collected to help defray the financial needs of the family." - is AWFUL. DO NOT GET ME STARTED. THROW A SMALLER FUNERAL, PEOPLE.
Look. I get it. Dying people are expensive. Funerals are expensive. And maybe the family is poor. But begging for money in the obit? NO. WRONG. I am also not a big fan of, "Donations may be made to a trust fund for the children." ALSO WRONG. For one thing, how much money do these people think they're gonna get? A couple grand, tops? And that's worth whoring out your family in an obit? "We're so damn poor, we gotta beg for money in Dad's death notice"? I don't THINK so. GOD.
Have a little dignity, people. It's the last damn thing you can do for the deceased.
Friday, October 07, 2011
Headstones
Seen in my neighborhood cemetery:
This was the oldest stone I found on this visit:
Okay, so Wife Number 1 dies first, then Hubby, then Wife Number 2. Who decided on the pecking order on the gravestone? At first I assumed it was Hubby, but he was not the last to go; Wife Number 2 was. But I can't imagine Wife Number 2 being fine with Wife Number 1 being on there, so now I'm just confused. As always, you can click on the pic to enlarge it.
This was the oldest stone I found on this visit:
One thing that strikes you about old cemeteries is the amount of people who died really, really young back then:
I think there's as many kids buried in this cemetery as there are adults. Life was tough in the old days. Oh, and you might want to give these headstones some thought the next time some nutjob starts raving about the evils of vaccination.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Straight outta the obits
A line from an obit in today's paper:
"The Angles have come to take her home to them."
So ... I'm guessing she was a mathematician?
"The Angles have come to take her home to them."
So ... I'm guessing she was a mathematician?
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