Every Saturday we get the local newspaper. I know, we're dinosaurs. But we have a digital subscription that gives us a hard copy once a week. I like the puzzles in the Saturday paper, and it's quite nice for a change to linger over the newspaper with a cup of tea, so I've been reluctant to let it go.
The last year or two, I've found myself skimming over the death notices that mostly appear on Saturdays. I realised I'm at the age where people I know are either losing their parents, or perhaps older bosses and colleagues are dying themselves. But I find it frustrating, because the only thing ever mentioned are their familial relationships.
There's nothing identifying these people except family. When I forget names, or names are common, I'm not sure if this was the person I knew or not. No mention of their years of diplomatic service, or their volunteer
work, of the books they loved or gardens they nurtured or clubs they belonged to. I understand all these things might be mentioned in an obituary, but who goes on line to find them, if they are even written? They're never in the newspapers unless the deceased was a public figure. Yet each person mentioned - whether they have long lists of loved ones and descendants or not - was so much more than their families. And we all know that families aren't perfect. It's impossible to tell if they were loving or largely estranged, if the
children and grandchildren mentioned phoned regularly or cared enough
to visit or care for their elderly relatives. That's just how people are summed up.
It strikes me as being very one-dimensional, and quite sad. In my own parents' notices, I didn't really think beyond the traditional either, so I'm not blaming others for doing the same. Yet my mother had a dear friend she would miss who deserved a mention, the friend keeping my mother company for the 11 years she survived without my father. Both my parents had a wide circle of acquaintances, both from the days living in a rural district and from their activities in their local communities, whether through school, or their own sporting and social activities, or through ours. My mother was a rifle shooter, and marched, she coached and managed netball teams, and was secretary of the school committee. My father belonged to other community groups, volunteering his time, and in his younger days tossed cabers and rode bulls, putting that aside for golf as he aged. They were farmers for years. All these things made them who they were, as much as being children, siblings, parents, aunt and uncle, grandparents, and great-grandparents.
That's why I am able now to feel more comfortable about being childless, simply because I know it is only a part of me. Just as my friends who are parents are much more than that too. (And this is especially obvious as those children grow up and leave home and sometimes leave the country.) Those who might be tempted to distil my life down to simply being childless are showing their own limitations and lack of imagination. I feel sorry for them. I may be childless, but I am also much* more. So are you. I'm not kidding.
* see my 2012 post Who I Am
