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THE WIND PHONE
Reluctantly Practicing the Art of the Obituary
Writing about three family members’ lives in short succession changed me
Years ago, I decided to write more obituaries.
So springtime 2023, sitting cross-legged on my sofa, I grinned and penned one for an eccentric neighborhood publican whose patrons used words like “scrappy,” “untamed,” and “mercurial” to describe him.
My phone buzzed. Dad Cell.
“Hey, Dad!”
“Your mom,” he choked. “Chris, she died.”
As a city reporter, I wrote about locally notable deaths — former police chief, famous musicians, fabled Free Advice Guy.
My duties did not necessarily include covering unsensational departures. But I operated within a small world. I often knew the deceased or their loved ones.
I wrote obituaries as the news cycle allowed because so many lives in retrospect are fascinating. Also, I supposed they might soothe, in some slight way, the bereft.
