It may be grim, but I have been reading the obituaries for years. Perhaps because I was in the news business or just out of morbid curiosity, I would read the ‘obits’ on the way to work when I was a full-time radio reporter/news anchor. the practice has continued through the years. Sometimes I’d spot a former neighbor or the mother of a friend or a teacher from my past. I’m always filled with wonder about how someone lived their life; who loved them; who is grieving their loss.
Death is a fact of life as the saying goes. How we choose to remember people in our lives after they’ve passed is a very personal thing. I am fortunate to have both of my parents. Memories, old letters and cards and items they’ve given me through the years become more precious. I cherish my dad’s fireman boots and his Philadelphia Fire Department helmet – the old-fashioned kind that weigh about 10 pounds; I cherish my mom’s handwriting on recipe cards and postcards I’ve collected through the years.
My husband lost his dad in October of 2000. His death came after a fairly short but painful illness. I’m certain not a day goes by that my husband doesn’t think of his dad in some way.
We were spending holiday time with his family, including his sister and brother when Doug showed his brown, leather gloves to his sister and asked,” Do you know where I got these?” The gloves were his dad’s. I never knew that those leather gloves meant so much to Doug until he said,” When I’m wearing them, I imagine I’m holding dad’s hand.”