HIM:  She thinks I am too macabre. She says it’s a sign of old age, and I don’t dispute her. She says it is all so depressing and that I am obsessed. She is referring to the fact that I have begun reading the obituary pages in the Ledger, Enterprise and Reporter on a much more regular basis. “Why can’t you pick a paper and read ‘em to your heart’s content?” It’s because I don’t want to miss a single one. The Ledger doesn’t carry all the Brockton deaths nor does the Enterprise cover many of the Quincy notices. The Reporter gives us the Tri-Town area and Pembroke. I don’t want to miss a one of them.

There is a real science to reading an obit. First, I want to know how many people I have outlived at my age. It actually makes me feel pretty good to see that at age 67 I’m still around; it’s depressing to see the numbers that have already gone at that age. I hate to see the obits of people that have left this mortal coil at a really young age, and to see an infant death is downright sad. Next thing I do is to see who, within the three papers, lived the longest. In a way, I feel badly for those really old folks because they have outlived just about every one of their friends and generally they have very small wakes. She asks me, “What, you think they’re in a popularity race, that somehow they’re missing the party?” I don’t think she gets it, being a few years younger than me, but you have this secret wish that you could be up there (rather presumptuous of me), looking down, and be impressed with the turnout. The older you are when you go, the lower the turnout.

I like to see who all the relatives are, where they’re from, how many grandchildren and great grandchildren they have and whether they have outlived their spouse. I’m also interested in how these people went. I hate to read that it was “…after a long illness.” I wish they’d tell you ‘how long’. Weeks, months, years? How long is long. To the poor soul a short time could feel like a long time; more detail is necessary. Then we have the personal stuff that I have always found unnecessary, such as, “they are survived by their companion of many years’ or survived by a partner. Why do we these details? It’s interesting to see how many people get old, head down south and bid farewell to the world so far from where they lived for most of their life. I should think that most people would want to meet their maker from their old stomping grounds instead of us saying, “Hey honey, you’ll never guess who passed away down in Palm Springs?” Half the time you never even knew they left so I’m usually more surprised than shocked that they’re gone when actually I though they must have already been deceased for years or I would have seen them around.

Another thing is, I want to know what did them in. Most times you get a good idea by things in the obit like, “In lieu of flowers donations may be made to the Heart Association or the Cancer Society…that kind of answers the question. I hate it when you just don’t know what happened; it goes to the core of us being naturally nosy. When they say “suddenly” that can mean lots of things and it’s not fair to have to speculate…terrible images can be conjured up over “suddenly.” Have you noticed that often they don’t even give you their age? Not fair, inquiring minds want to know. Another thing that puts me in high C is when some guy dies at age 97 and they put a picture of him when he was 35. I want to see how he looked at least within the last year…probably not good, but when was death about vanity. Photographers should offer specials for old people to come in once a year (offer a senior discount) for a nice photo. The women can go to the hairdresser, buy a new dress, apply a little makeup, and have a ready-made photo for the newspapers that reflects a bit of reality. Most guys don’t care, once we’re gone, who cares how good we looked in the newspaper announcement?

I even do a box score of how many men vs. women go on a given day; men usually lead the way by about six or seven out of 10, probably because we work ourselves to death. She thinks that there are other parts of a newspaper that could be more fulfilling, like the political shenanigans that go on in our fair town. I do give that a try, but the obits are less stressful.

HER:  It sure is fun living with a man who’s obsessed with death and begins every conversation with the words, “You’ll never guess who died today.”

When I think about it, I have to conclude that his life is so good that he simply doesn’t want to leave it, and that’s a testament to his ability to be happy. Or, because he doesn’t know what’s on the other side, he’s fearful of it.

I don’t know much about what heaven will be like, but it’s supposed to be beyond anything we can imagine, so in the interest of cheering him up I will try to put the afterlife in perspective for him in a way that will comfort him.

When St. Peter greets him he will say, “Dan, God made you curious, and you’ve used that quality well, so instead of just knowing Kingston’s business, you will know the world’s business going back as far as you like.” He will love that. Because he will be a spirit, he will be able to travel anywhere. He can touch the sun, the moon, and the stars or plunge deep into the ocean and explore the seabed for shipwrecks and buried treasure. He can ride the backs of whales and dolphins through calm seas, and he can become part of the wind. He can visit with loved ones, meet Ghandi, and spend time asking God lots of questions, and God will not say, “Will you stop already.” He will be astonished to learn that heaven’s music beats Celine Dion and the Dixie Chicks. He’ll be able to attend every superbowl and sit on a player’s shoulder if he wants to. He’ll be able to play with all the dogs he loved who died including Buddy, his childhood pet. He probably will not be able to chat with his first fiancé because I suspect she will not be there. Whoever goes first will be in charge of finding us a home, and if that’s him, I have no doubt we’ll occupy a yurt in the Mongolian section because he loves places with indecipherable languages and absolutely no conveniences.

His greatest resistance to heaven, I think, is that there will not be food. Frankly, that concerns me as well. I’m also wondering about books and knitting. One of the greatest consolations, however, is that there are no bills to pay in heaven except for the lives we’ve led. The Bible says there are many mansions in heaven, but I’d count myself lucky to have a small cape overlooking a little stream. There is no dissension in heaven, and won’t that be glorious. Everyone just loving one another. No elections. No town meeting. No in-law issues. No jobs. No fatigue. No sickness. No whining. Just peace and joy. But I still don’t understand why there can’t be food. Maybe there is. Who really knows?

So Honey, I hope I’ve helped you to see that death is just the grand beginning to an eternity without a single worry or care. But in the meantime, you have walks to shovel, bills to pay, groceries to shop for, and a sick dog who needs her pills twice a day. You have classes to teach, a car to fix, an office to clean, obits to read, signs to make, and a house that requires many repairs. And you also have me.

I think my work here is done.