The Saddies

Hey readers, I’m consumed with a big soon-to-be disclosed project. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a version of an essay I wrote a while ago…

The Saddies

After you complete your morning mad-skivvies-dash to retrieve your newspaper, and while you chase your coffee with some brand of nuggety-crunch, to which section of the newspaper do you turn first? Some people like to greet their day with the funnies. Others prefer, well, The Saddies.

I come from a line of habitual obituary-reading people. It’s one thing to make sure none of your blue-haired bingo buddies bit it over the weekend, but I hesitate to call the practice normal for a vibrant young person. Someday scientists may identify a genetic predisposition for obituary perusal. A segment of the population—probably very small, and perhaps consisting entirely of Jews related to me somehow—will nod knowingly. That’s why Dad calls me up in the middle of his workday, asking me if so-and-so was in my class, because he or she died tragically…If Dad’s email contains some vaguely familiar name in the subject line, my siblings and I know to sit down before opening the message. In fact, he now prefaces any non-death communication with “Do you know so-and-so? Don’t worry they’re not dead.”

My Dad isn’t the only one to participate in this macabre ritual. Upon returning from vacation, my Mom managed to give us a warm embrace before dashing over to our newspaper “to see who died.” Even my grandparents had a life-long tradition of five-o-clock Whiskey Sours and the New York Times crossword puzzle, peppered with discussion about the day’s obituaries “A needle case? Etui. Stu Wasserman? Cardiac Arrest.”

Sadly, our dead friends can no longer rest in peace. A rising trend in identity theft uses obituary details to obtain the deceased’s social security number, as a means of accessing new lines of credit… Honey, I know your Great Uncle just passed, but it looks like he purchased an Executive Costco Membership and has a strong affinity for Kirkland diapers and Grey Goose Vodka. My financial planner included in her recent newsletter precautions for identity protection in the obituaries. She suggested forgoing date of death (including month), and withholding identifying information such as address, and full name. What a challenge for the survivors:

Somewhat Recently in the year 2008ish, our beloved Grandperson died, somewhere in the Tri-State area. He/She worked very hard with some great people at Anonymous Company, and will be dearly missed by an unspecified number of loved ones. The family chose this emoticon to capture the spirit of our beloved Grandhuman

Given that I’ve skimmed The Saddies daily for several years now, I have one request for those losing their own grand human. If your family forgoes identity safety by posting an actual picture, please choose thoughtfully. Choose a photo as you would choose an outfit for a viewing. Grandma would look downright silly in her high school cap and gown, right? Forgo the class photo temptation, valedictorian or not. It’s jarring to see a dashing young swell where one expects a 93-year-old man. Of course you want to remember him as his old self, and a spry nonagenarian photo can capture that moment in time.

If I have the fortune of living well into Great-Grannydom (knock wood, throw salt, ptooey!) I hope my offspring commemorate my life not with my Bat Mitzvah photo (if you can find one—I was the third child), but instead with a photo of me high-stepping as a white-haired Reno in the Jewish Community Day Center production of Anything Goes. This photo could satisfy both the criteria of protecting my identity (fishnets and gold lame) and of celebrating my legacy in a quasi age-appropriate manner. Please go ahead and include quotes from any favorable reviews as well. Why be humble? I’m dead!

Until that final curtain call, I continue my daily coffee klatch with the dead. Be it culture, genetics, or Judaism that calls me to this leg of a health-and-youth-gratitude relay, I graciously receive The Saddies baton and join my parents as we go tsking, head-shaking, and finger-crossing our way to the ultimate finish line