I love obituaries.
It may seem morbid, but it’s not. There’s nothing macabre about acknowledging and honoring those who have died, especially through the words their loved ones recorded to memorialize simultaneously their life and passing.
Many years ago when I was a student at the University of Idaho, I worked for the Moscow-Pullman Daily News. My job was to check for typos in the weekend edition, a gig I was uniquely qualified to do as the only journalism major who never had a date on Friday nights.
Eventually the paper caught on that my lack of a social life extended well beyond the weekend and I was brought on as a part-time news clerk. I reviewed community submissions, wrote the briefs on Page 2, and my favorite responsibility of all, prepared the obituaries. Sometimes that was as simple as copying and pasting text that came in via email, but sometimes it was transcribing a handwritten eulogy and sometimes I was privileged to write the obituary myself based on the information provided by the subject’s grieving loved one.
It was an honor to play a small part in these individuals’ lives, even if my introduction to them came after their deaths. Even now as a passive observer, there’s something sacred about reading a detailed accounting of someone’s life. That’s why I tread lightly when I say something has been amiss with obituaries over the last few years.
At last check, Latah County has had 40 COVID-19 deaths and Whitman County has had 82. Despite 122 of our friends and neighbors dying from the virus, I only count 14 obituaries in the Moscow-Pullman Daily News that listed COVID-19 as a cause of death. Notably six of those obituaries were for individuals who didn’t live on the Palouse when they died, leaving 114 local COVID deaths unaccounted for.
Of course not all individuals in the two counties have had obituaries in the Daily News, or at all for that matter. Still, this huge disparity is telling, and I don’t think it’s unique to our community.
Maybe there’s a perceived stigma if you admit your loved one died of COVID-19. Or maybe the politicization of the pandemic has given those left behind pause. For the grieving, I pass zero judgement on how you choose to memorialize your loved one. Respectfully, however, I believe there’s benefit to be had by sharing the cause of death in an accurate and factual way.
There’s value for the progeny of the deceased. When I learned about my ancestors who died while emigrating west across the plains back in the 1800s, that made the Oregon Trail more than just a game with terrible graphics. It made that chapter of history real and showed me my place in it. It gave me a reason to learn lessons from the past.
Imagine what it might mean to someone in 100 years learning that their namesake died in the pandemic of 2020. Imagine how that knowledge might impact their response to a health crisis in their own time.
There’s also benefit for the here-and-now. In a war that’s been fought primarily in hospitals where both infection prevention and privacy prevent witnesses, all the anonymity has lulled us into a false sense of “that happens to other people.” Giving our casualties names and faces — even 122 names and faces in a small community like ours — appropriately changes the narrative to “there but by the grace of God go I” and inspires greater caution.
So I extend an invitation. For the living, please consider giving your loved ones direction regarding your obituary wishes, and consider giving them the greenlight to be transparent regarding your manner of death.
And for those who experience a loss, if you can still find comfort in doing so please consider sharing openly how your loved one died in the obituary. Their manner of death does not define them, but it is a part of their story and it’s a part that may hold great value for present and future observers.
Stellmon set sail for a three-hour tour on the Palouse in 2001. She is now happily marooned in Moscow with her spouse and five children.
