The death of a spouse or partner is immensely painful and emotional and during this stressful time, financial challenges may arise. That’s why experts strongly recommend talking with a financial planner and educating yourself so you can properly prepare.
According to an article published by the financial services company Merrill (formerly Merrill Lynch), “The financial burdens that come with the loss of a partner are immense and immediate. In addition to the financial demands, critical paperwork and decision-making begin their steady creep right away. That’s when help from a knowledgeable professional can be invaluable.”
The surviving spouse has to contend with many financial changes, including the fact that their income tax bracket may change, and, in the case of retirees, the surviving spouse also loses a second Social Security check, making it potentially more difficult to make ends meet.
“Widows and widowers have to understand that when their partner dies, typically, their income goes down with the loss of one Social Security benefit and a possible reduction in pension benefits,” John Iammarino, president and founder of Securus Financial in San Diego, California, told MassMutual “And while their income goes down, their taxes may go up.”
In addition to understanding tax and Social Security changes, experts urge widows and widowers to update their assets and estate plans. Russ Thornton, founder of Wealthcare For Women, also said in a blog post that they may also need to update the title on their home and other assets.
“Contact your bank, financial institutions, and investment management firms to have all your jointly held bank, brokerage and investment accounts retitled,” he wrote. “In most states, joint accounts are considered to be “Rights of Survivorship,” but you should confirm this before making any changes.”
Finally, additional tasks include dealing with life insurance, applying for survivor benefits, and reviewing loans, bills and financial obligations. “Your financial planner can help you understand your options and how they fit into your financial plan,” Thornton added. “That way, you can secure your financial future and avoid any unnecessary risks or sacrifices to your current lifestyle.”
Dr. Lisa Walling’s first house call of the day was with a particularly fluffy hospice patient — a 13-year-old Newfoundland named Rugby.
Rugby happily licked a plate of peanut butter as Walling inserted needles along her back; acupuncture and a ketamine injection to help with pain and mobility problems.
As an end-of-life care veterinarian, Walling considers both pet and owner to be her patients. She’s there to make sure animals are as comfortable as possible in their final days, and help humans through the difficult decision of knowing when it’s time to say goodbye.
“I find a lot of the time, the biggest part of my job is helping the owners,” said Walling. When it came time to euthanize Rugby at a later visit, the whole family was there.
There are a number of options available to help aging pets and their caregivers, including hospice and palliative care, at-home euthanasia and a growing number of so-called pet death doulas. But navigating decisions around the end of their life can still feel overwhelming. Here are some ways you can take care of your pet and yourself.
How can I make my elderly pet more comfortable?
Hospice and palliative care veterinarians like Walling specialize in home visits, which can be a good option if transporting your pet to the vet’s office becomes too difficult.
The International Association for Animal Hospice and Palliative Care maintains a directory of its members.
Vets can prescribe medication to treat infections, pain and chronic conditions, and help with diet changes. But there are simple things owners can do themselves around the house to make their pet more comfortable.
As dogs age and their limbs become stiffer, slippery floors like hardwood and tile become difficult to walk on. Try putting carpet runners or yoga mats where your pet walks, and especially where they stand to eat. For breeds with longer hair, you can trim the fur off the bottom of their paws to give their pads more grip.
“We had to take all of the area rugs and patchwork our kitchen,” said Rugby’s owner, Sam Boege.
For larger dogs that need help getting up or going outside, Walling recommends a special harness that has front and rear handles.
Cats don’t struggle with slippery floors as much, but they do get arthritis. If your cat is having trouble stepping up into their litter box, it might be a good idea to get one that’s lower to the ground.
For both dogs and cats, try raising the food and water bowls so they don’t have to bend down as much.
How do you know when it’s time to say goodbye to your pet?
If medication and pain management aren’t relieving your pet’s suffering and you’re trying to decide if it may be time to let them go, look for signs like loss of appetite and difficulty breathing — and check with your vet.
“There is a spectrum of time when a euthanasia is an appropriate decision,” said Dr. Dani McVety, a veterinarian who founded Lap of Love, the country’s largest network of at-home euthanasia providers.
Lap of Love provides resources on its website that can be used to evaluate your animal’s quality of life.
Planning for at-home euthanasia can be a good choice for pets who aren’t experiencing immediate medical emergencies. It’s smart to prepare ahead of time and understand how the procedure works so you can focus on your pet in their last days.
“You’re not shortening their life, you’re shortening their death,” Walling said.
Where to turn for emotional support at the end of your pet’s life
You don’t have to go through the end of your pet’s life alone.
The Association for Pet Loss and Bereavement provides information on its website to help pet owners understand euthanasia and grief. Lap of Love offers pet loss support groups several times a week. There are also pet loss counselors, grief specialists and animal chaplains who offer one-on-one support.
Animal end-of-life doulas, or “death doulas,” offer emotional, spiritual and informational support around the time of death. They aren’t required to have medical training, but may work with veterinary providers. A doula can help owners process feelings of grief and loss or assist with practical steps like planning for final days.
“Everybody’s different,” said Lauren Seeley, a death doula based in New York City. “What I find is most people aren’t ready to deal with it until it’s already happened.”
— More than 3,000 people have used the law, inspiring legislation in Australia and Canada and debate in the UK, France and Japan
Youssef Cohen rides to a doctor’s appointment with his wife in New York on 16 March 2016 in New York City. Cohen, who had an incurable cancer called mesothelioma, advocated for the right to choose how and when he would die, and later moved to Oregon, which has a Death with Dignity law.
It’s three decades since Ann Jackson voted against the first assisted-dying law in the world.
But after watching two partners succumb to cancer, and fearing the prospect of a lingering death herself as she grapples with autoimmune diseases, Jackson is now a vigorous proponent of the Oregon legislation used by thousands of people to end their own lives, and providing a blueprint for other US states and countries considering similar laws, including the UK.
“I voted twice against the law, but once it went into effect and I saw how it worked, I changed my mind,” said Jackson, the former chief executive of the Oregon Hospice Association.
“I really thought that if everyone had hospice care, they wouldn’t need this, which was very arrogant of me because hospice is something where others decide. One of the things that really bothers me is the idea that doctors should decide when to allow you to die. That is just awful. I came to realise this is about choice. Someone should be able to decide for themselves when to die.”
Oregon voters passed the state’s Death with Dignity Act in a 1994 referendum by a slim margin. Since then, more than 3,000 terminally ill people with just months to live have used the law to end their lives using a prescribed combination of lethal medications.
Along the way, the Death with Dignity Act has survived a second referendum, an attempt to kill it in the US Congress and a challenge in the US supreme court.
The number of people using the law to end their lives continues to grow each year, with 367 taking the fatal combination of drugs in 2023, less than 1% of deaths in Oregon. Support for assisted dying in the state has risen to the point where it is no longer a significant political issue.
Eight US states and Washington DC now allow what is also known as physician-assisted dying along the lines of the Oregon law, and a dozen more are debating bills to legalise it. The legislation has influenced legislation in Australia and Canada, and features strongly in ongoing debates as the UK, France and Japan contemplate their own assisted-dying laws.
But the law has not been without its challenges, including a reluctance by many doctors to sign off on requests by patients who want to end their lives.
Campaigners wrote the Death with Dignity Act to head off longstanding accusations that any such law would result in people being pressured to take their own lives against their will. Applicants must have a terminal illness with less than six months to live and be mentally competent. They are also required to self-administer the lethal medicines, which often include a mix of opioids and barbiturates.
Two doctors must agree to the prescription and tell a patient about alternatives, such as palliative care. Built-in waiting periods prevent someone acting on impulse, although these have been amended to take account of people who only have a few days to live.
The law also includes legal protections for doctors who prescribe the lethal drugs.
But those requirements did not stop the 1994 referendum evolving into an often bitter campaign. The state’s largest newspaper, the Oregonian, was strongly opposed to the Death with Dignity Act. So was the US senator for Oregon, Ron Wyden, who said he feared the law could be used to push people who could not afford medical expenses into taking their own lives.
The Roman Catholic church, alarmed at the precedent the law would set, poured millions of dollars into campaigning against it by claiming that assisted dying would encourage a rash of suicides. The archbishop of Portland, William Levada, called proponents of the law “murderers in the name of mercy”.
Other opponents claimed that the disabled and sick would take their own lives so as not to become a burden on their families. Some even claimed that Oregon’s beaches would be littered with the bodies of people who chose to die next to the sea.
Voters approved the law by a slim margin with 51% in favour. But the anti-abortion group National Right to Life almost immediately persuaded a federal judge to block its implementation for another three years. Then Oregon’s legislature decided to put the issue to voters again.
Support for the law increased to 60% on a second ballot in 1997, in part because even some Oregonians who had voted against it the first time resented outside-pressure groups failing to respect the original result.
The legislation finally took effect, but two years later Congress tried to legislate against it. By then, Wyden thought differently about the Death with Dignity Act after seeing it in action.
“Not only did I change my views, but I filibustered in the Senate to protect it. I consider it one of the most important things I’ve done in my time in public service,” he told Willamette Week.
Even as public support for the law grew among Oregonians, challenges continued. Those who wanted to make use of it often struggled to persuade their doctors to sign the necessary papers. Some physicians had moral objections, believing it breached the Hippocratic oath, or worked for medical institutions that were opposed. Others feared legal consequences after President George W Bush’s administration threatened to punish doctors who prescribed the life-ending drugs.
In response, Sue Dessayer Porter helped found End of Life Choices Oregon to guide people through the process and link them with doctors willing to help.
“When I started, in this whole Portland area, there were maybe three doctors who would sign off. For a lot of them, I think it was the legal fear. We have done so much outreach speaking to doctors, working with hospitals and hospices, to tell them that nobody has faced any legal problems. But so many are still badly informed about the law,” she said.
Jack and Marilyn Pasternack struggled to find a cooperative doctor after they were both diagnosed as terminally ill five years ago. Their son, Alan, said that when his father began to succumb to melanoma, his 89-year-old mother decided she wanted to die with him.
“She had a serious heart condition and her cardiologist told her she would die within months without surgery. He wanted her to have open-heart surgery and she didn’t want to,” he said.
Pasternack said that the cardiologist refused to sign the required papers because he opposed the law. Eventually, Pasternack was able to get his mother into hospice care, which set in motion the process that allowed the couple to obtain the medication and die together. Still, it took weeks and there was opposition from other quarters.
“My sister belongs to a congregation in New York. She spoke to the rabbi there who flat-out told her, you have to call your parents and tell them to stop doing what they’re doing,” he said.
But a sense of relief descended on the family once the couple had obtained the prescriptions. Jack and Marilyn had a last week of visiting a favourite Irish pub and a jazz club.
“We got together at their apartment. We sang songs. After a while, they drank the magic potion. They sat there holding hands. They had a beautiful day on their own terms,” said Pasternack.
Families of those who have chosen to end their lives under the law frequently say that having the lethal drugs to hand provides a sense of comfort that can transform the last days of their lives.
But Pasternack and his wife, Gail, said the process remained frustrating because his parents were constantly asked by doctors whether they still wanted to go through with taking their own lives.
“Even the moment before they give you the drink, they ask you again, because you have to be of sound mind to make this decision,” said Gail. “They kept asking. It seems like they’re trying to beat you down into changing your mind. It’s very strange.”
Mark Rarick, an oncologist who has signed off on more than 200 applications from people seeking to end their lives, said he understood the frustration but regards the system as necessary to reassure society that people are not being pressured into ending their lives against their will.
“We need the support of society to continue this. The safeguards are very important so that people know that someone with cancer cannot just say ‘I’m feeling down today and I think I want to end my life’ and do it tomorrow,” he said.
The Oregon health authority said it had not received a single report of the law being misused. But because it does not require a doctor to be present when the lethal medication is consumed, critics say the authority cannot know for certain that someone has not come under pressure to take it.
Some doctors have also expressed concern about the motivations of some patients asking to die. According to the state health authority, the three leading reasons given for using the law are “losing autonomy”, being “less able to engage in activities making life enjoyable” and “loss of dignity”.
Nearly half said being a “burden on family, friends/caregivers” was a concern alongside other reasons. More than 150 people said the cost of medical treatment fed into their decision.
Porter said she is not disturbed by these numbers because “everyone who is sick worries about being a burden on their family” and patients are not citing that as the primary reason for seeking to end their lives.
She said that almost everyone she has dealt with has made their peace with being terminally ill in part because more than 80% of those who ask to end their lives are 65 or older and most are in hospice care. But occasionally she is called on to assist someone who is young and that is a different matter.
“Most people come to terms with their death but not if they’re younger. The youngest person I dealt with was a gentleman who was about 26 years old. He was so sad because he had never been in love and he really had wanted to experience that,” she said.
In 2014, a 29-year-old woman with brain cancer, Brittany Maynard, moved from California to Oregon to take advantage of the law. Maynard went public, setting a date for her death and posting a series of videos pressing for legalisation of assisted dying in other states.
Three days after Maynard took the medication, a Vatican official condemned her for “saying no to life”. Maynard’s mother, Deborah, wrote that her dying daughter did “not deserve to be labelled as reprehensible by strangers a continent away who do not know her or the particulars of her situation”.
Maynard’s public discussion of her decision to end her life did more than any other single patient in Oregon to spread awareness and support for the law. She prompted California to adopt similar legislation.
More broadly, Oregon’s law has forced a greater focus on how people die, with doctors and medical institutions paying closer attention to palliative care and reducing suffering toward the end of life. It has also contributed to the rapid expansion of hospice care.
Still, some in the medical profession remain steadfastly opposed. Charles Bentz, one of the law’s most prominent critics in Oregon, has described it as “one of the worst things to happen to the profession of medicine since the Middle Ages”.
Jackson regards such views as marginal amid growing public support for assisted dying in Oregon and nationally.
“My Catholic cousin did it with a blessing of his family,” she said.
Jackson has personal reasons to appreciate the Death with Dignity Act. Thirty years ago, her partner, John, endured a “terrible death” from liver cancer before assisted dying was available.
In 2009, she met William Duncan – a vascular surgeon from Massachusetts “who morphed into a cowboy in Oregon” – on an internet dating site. A few years later, Duncan was diagnosed with prostate cancer and became very ill. His doctor was reluctant to sign the necessary forms but eventually agreed when Duncan declined further treatment.
The day after Thanksgiving, the family drove him through the snow to his log cabin in central Oregon. Duncan drank the medication with a bourbon cocktail as a chaser with Jackson at his side.
“Now he had that prescription, he was able to enjoy his last days,” she said.
Now Jackson, who has the autoimmune diseases multiple sclerosis and scleroderma, wonders if some day she may use the law herself.
“I get times when I’m not able to see. That’s an MS thing. I have been in a position where I wasn’t able to walk. My fingers don’t work,” she said.
— And how can you support people going through it?
By Molly Powell (PA) & Abbie Meehan
Healthcare workers should be trained in ‘pre-death grief’ while supporting families of dementia patients, according to new guidance.
Healthcare Improvement Scotland’s guideline – published by the Scottish Intercollegiate Guidelines Network – calls for improved support for carers, and acknowledgement that pre-death grief impacts wider family networks as well as the patient.
While dementia is the focus here, it’s something that can potentially occur for people facing a wide range of health conditions and diagnoses.
So, what exactly is pre-death grief, what impact can it have, and how can we support those going through it? What is pre-death grief?
Healthcare workers should be trained in ‘pre-death grief’ while supporting families of dementia patients, according to new guidance.
Healthcare Improvement Scotland’s guideline – published by the Scottish Intercollegiate Guidelines Network – calls for improved support for carers, and acknowledgement that pre-death grief impacts wider family networks as well as the patient.
While dementia is the focus here, it’s something that can potentially occur for people facing a wide range of health conditions and diagnoses.
So, what exactly is pre-death grief, what impact can it have, and how can we support those going through it?
However, it may also occur where an illness has resulted in significant loss for those affected, even when there isn’t necessarily a terminal diagnosis attached – for example, there may be a big sense of grief following a severe stroke or brain injury.
What impact can it have on loved ones?
Smyth believes the nature of grief is “complex and individual to the person”, but on the whole, pre-death grief can have a big impact on somebody’s mood and wellbeing.
Grief counsellor Georgina Sturmer (georginasturmer.co.uk) believes pre-death grief differs from grief after a loss because it is often accompanied by a “need to mask how we are feeling”, she explained, and a need to look after other people at the same time.
“Pre-death grief can also trigger uncomfortable feelings that we might want to hide from,” Sturmer added. “Sometimes we notice that we feel frustrated by the uncertainty, and perhaps notice ourselves even wondering if things might feel easier once our loved one has died. It can feel impossible to voice these feelings, but often they lie within our subconscious.
In addition to this tangled web of feelings, we might notice an overwhelming sense of sadness or depression or hopelessness, along with physical sensations such as a change in appetite or difficulty sleeping.”
How can you support someone going through it?
Smyth believes being there for someone, without judgement, is “key to supporting someone with pre-death grief”. She added: “As a friend or family member, you can ask them what they need from you.
“Some people may wish to talk about what they are feeling, others may just want to have a chat with their friend about the TV shows you watch, or the latest drama in a soap. The thing to remember is that there is no one right way to grieve or support someone who is grieving.”
Nicola Creaser, a Marie Curie bereavement counsellor, also thinks it is important to remember to help children through pre-death grief.
“Children and young people can also experience pre-grief and may look to adults in their lives for support and answers,” Creaser explained. “It is ok to not have all the answers, and often the honest answer is, ‘I don’t know’.
“Children and young people like to be included in what is going on, though this can often be hard for parents and carers. Helping a young person understand who their support network is can help so they know who they can talk to when they are struggling.”
How can people experiencing pre-death grief help support themselves?
Smyth said: “Just knowing that pre-death grief is real can itself be a relief to people – knowing that they are not falling apart and knowing that what they are experiencing is normal and happens to others can be a comfort. Very often, people caring for a loved one can feel isolated, as caring is a full-time job,” she added.
“The GP can be a good route to support from local services or charities. It may feel scary but a local hospice, like Marie Curie, may be able to support you too.”
— And I learn something about death and dying and loss
Just as everyone has given up on ever getting Mango out of the hole, the story goes in a surprising direction
I have fallen for a new podcast series which is ostensibly about animals, but is really a joyful and melancholy celebration of humans, among other creatures
“Let me tell you a story about a hole,” says the American writer Sam Anderson at the start of his new six-episode podcast series Animal. The first episode begins almost like a horror story. Our narrator accidentally cracks a floorboard while fixing something on a ladder in his daughter’s room, opening up a gaping black hole in the floor. He neglects to repair this hole, and into it, eventually, falls his daughter’s pet hamster Mango. Mango gets lost in there, in “the secret infinite maze of the inside of our very old house”. Efforts to rescue her prove futile, and a small insistent unease descends on the Anderson home, “as if the whole house had a toothache”.
And then, just as everyone has given up on ever getting Mango out of the hole, the story goes in a surprising direction: the family’s miniature dachshund Walnut takes it upon himself to rescue Mango, becoming obsessed with sniffing a particular spot behind the livingroom wall.
This small domestic drama ends well, with Walnut, with the help of Anderson, rescuing the hamster from the dark interior of the house. But the story is saturated in sadness, and becomes, in the end, about mortality – about a previous beloved dog who had died, and about the more recent and painful loss of his father. It’s about how everything changes and passes and is finally gone, about children growing older and leaving home, and parents dying; it’s about the weird black hole in the floor of our world, into which everything irretrievably falls. But it’s also about a man who just loves his dog very much. It’s about fifteen minutes long, and is a tiny, touching little tour de force of storytelling and voice.
That episode, Walnut, sets the tone for the rest of the series, each episode of which focuses on a different animal species for which Anderson has some affinity or obsession. I’ve been listening to it all this week, and have fallen for its unique thoughtfulness, humour and narrative waywardness. There’s an episode on puffins, in which Anderson travels to a remote Icelandic island to rescue lost baby puffins with the vocalist in a local black metal band. That episode touches on the subject of his own daughter leaving the nest to go to college, and his guilt about missing it in order to go to Iceland to rescue puffins. Without ever really being about anything other than Icelandic puffins, it manages to say a lot, in its oblique and open-ended way, about letting go as an act of love.
There’s an episode, ostensibly about wolves, where Anderson goes to a forest outside Kyoto, to visit the statue of the last remaining Japanese wolf; the whole thing winds up being not about wolves at all, but about the taxi driver who drives him to the wolf statue, the story he tells about his own beloved pet chihuahua Gotaro, and the physical abuse Gotaro suffered at the hands of his father-in-law. There’s a weird and very funny episode about ferrets, where Anderson goes to something called the Ferret Buckeye Bash, a kind of Crufts for ferrets, held in a hotel in Columbus, Ohio, where he both indulges and analyses his own affection for these vicious, squirmy beasts. “A ferret is basically a weasel,” he says. “It’s long, and tubular, sort of like a badger crossed with a snake, but also crossed with a teddy bear.” (One of the podcast’s many joys is the weird and vivid descriptions of the animals themselves.)
Animal is a carefully crafted series, but it also has about it the slightly scrappy and ad hoc feel of listening in, in real-time, on a writer reporting a magazine story
My favourite episode, and the one that really exemplifies the series’s particular charm and sly profundity, is the finale, on bats – the one animal Anderson outright despises. It opens with Anderson reading a truly execrable poem by DH Lawrence, about his own disgust for bats. The poem concludes, as he puts it, “with the dumbest ending I’ve ever encountered in the work of a major writer”. That line: “In China the bat is symbol for happiness./Not for me!” From there, he goes into his own disgust for bats, despite which he visits a limestone cave in Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula known as the “bat volcano”, for its colony of 4 million bats which explode out of its opening at sunset. As you’d expect, sustained proximity to so many bats, in the company of one of the world’s foremost bat experts, leads Anderson to a final accommodation with these once despised creatures. What’s less expected, and more beautiful, is where the episode goes from there; it comes full circle to the black hole where the series started, with the very animal business of death and dying and loss.
I find the podcast, on its own terms, joyful and funny and poignant. But I also find it fascinating as a long-time reader of Anderson’s writing. For years now, he has been one of the most consistently interesting and innovative practitioners of the art of magazine writing. Sam is a friend, I should say, though I admired his work – first as New York’s regular book critic, then as a staff writer for The New York Times Magazine, which released this podcast – long before I ever got to know him. (His 2016 essay “David’s Ankles”, on structural flaws in the ankles of Michaelangelo’s David, and the torments of perfectionism, is among my favourite pieces of narrative journalism.)
Animal is a carefully crafted series, but it also has about it the slightly scrappy and ad hoc feel of listening in, in real-time, on a writer reporting a magazine story: the halting conversations, the instinctively indulged tangents, and the interviewees who come out with unexpected stories that wind up being more interesting than the topic you thought you were writing about. The podcastis a lovely and eccentric thing, and a kind of melancholy celebration of humans, among other creatures.
Obituaries helped communities to share information about their losses. They are also invaluable research tools. Changes in the newspaper industry threaten this resource.
When my father, Jim Kerr, died in late February at the age of 83, we followed many traditional rituals. Notifying distant relatives. Finding an appropriate suit. Visitation at a local funeral home. Packing up and donating personal possessions.
One significant exception was publishing an obituary in the local daily newspaper, in this case the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette from which employees are now on strike. That among other reasons made this a difficult decision. For people of my father’s generation, reading the death notices or obituaries is an important way to stay informed of the passing of neighbors, coworkers and friends. Deciding not to place an obituary was therefore a painful choice.
For my father, it was more personal. He was raised by his maternal grandparents. His grandfather, Gil Remley, was a newspaper man for more than 50 years. He got his start in 1908 as a copy boy racing between reporters and editors. He worked his way up to reporting, eventually landing in the sports departments of the Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph, and then the Post-Gazette.
The obituary of newspaper editor Gil Remley, Jim Kerr’s maternal grandfather.
My father was immeasurably proud of his grandfather who had cultivated a lifelong respect for reading the daily paper in his children. My father in turn did the same with me. My parents subscribed to the Pittsburgh Press and the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Both of them read them cover to cover. They passed this on to me. I’ve always subscribed to my local daily no matter where I lived, from Washington, D.C. to Baton Rouge, then to Todd County, Kentucky, and back to Pittsburgh.
And, yes, I read the obituaries. As did my parents. There was no simpler means to share this information in an era long before home or personal computers. Phone calls to immediate family and friends were expected, but how else would a former student of a beloved teacher or a coworker from former jobs know about this significant life event?
We ran an obituary when my mother died in February 2022. My father didn’t warrant a news obituary, just living an ordinary Pittsburgh life. That left me aiming for a paid obituary. Several barriers stood in the way.
First, there was the picket line of the striking Pittsburgh Post-Gazette employees. It remains important to me to respect the picket line, given the role of labor unions in my own family, including my father’s life. So I called a member of the Pittsburgh News Guild and was assured that it was acceptable to honor my father with an obituary in the P-G. It was sort of like a union absolution. They were very kind about it.
Second was the cost. My father was buried on a Monday so finding a publication date was exasperating. Finding the funds was more so. I rely on Social Security Disability Insurance for my income, about $1,200 monthly. I’ve been dealing with domestic issues that left me without much to spare. Life insurance didn’t stretch that far.
I did the math after a P-G employee sent me a rate sheet. By my estimate, the obituary I wanted to run would have cost more than $600, including funeral home fees, for a one-day notice.
Pennsylvania law requires us to go through the funeral home to publish an obituary.
Funerals are fraught with grief and unique family dynamics. In the best of cases, there are bound to be some differences of opinion. When a family has underlying tensions coupled with the sense of loss, even small details such as a flower arrangement can become a big deal. Crafting the obituary, deciding where to place it, and how long to run it are one of those potential big deals.
But it pains me that my father of all people was the first in our family to not be memorialized. He had dozens of neighbors, hundreds of coworkers, and probably a helluva lot of drinking buddies. There’s no telling whether they all got word of his passing.
It feels significant that his ordinary obituary didn’t run. It reflects a changing of the mourning rituals that’s inevitable as papers continue to fold. How will we share information about this vital milestone in every single life?
Ridiculous costs, outdated systems
For over ten years on my blog, I have created memorial posts for transgender neighbors who have lost their lives to violence. I know it is important to devote a space to fuse sharing their life story with news of their deaths. It’s not an obituary, but sometimes it is the only published piece that honors their true identity. I always try to center their humanity, not just the circumstances of their death. People should know how they lived.
Author Sue Kerr.
Social media is one option. But creating obituary content for all of the platforms is laborious. Countless times, I’ve come across a memorial image followed by countless inquiries for details. Exerting energy to answer all of them is also not sustainable. And many of the larger sites still require a family to go through a funeral home.
My father also lived a life in the shadows, not on social media, a product of his generation and his family circumstances. His funeral only had three flower arrangements and scant contributions to our in-lieu-of-flowers charity. He deserved to be acknowledged and celebrated one final time, to have the dignity of a proper obituary. His work on earth was done.
But he did not have that. And I suspect more and more of his peers will suffer similar fates.
The cost of an obituary is ridiculous, absolutely taking advantage of grief. The state law about going through funeral homes is appalling. I understand the need to confirm the death. Still … It would be easy enough to create a system through which any newspaper outlet would be able to confirm death through the county or state with a few clicks. State law around death is behind the times.
I feel immense guilt and regret that my father endured this final blow to his dignity, a confirmation of his lifelong belief that his life was overlooked. All the blog posts I can muster won’t reach the audience he deserves.
Closing a historical goldmine
In my genealogy work, I read many newspapers.
In the early 20th century, most people used a “death notice” format to share the information: The person had died, here are the arrangements. Many of these notices included a call to other papers on the newswire to run the notice locally as well. These notices were paid by length so keeping things simple was a necessity.
An obituary of one of the Sue Kerr’s relatives, Katherine D. Butler.
As the century moved along, people began writing a little more information, albeit with some constraints. The person died on a date, they were from a certain community. They had survivors — a spouse, children, perhaps parents. Funeral arrangements. That’s that. It feels like a very mid-century modern attitude with a stiff upper lip while still needing to keep up appearances.
As time wore on, the obituaries grew more elaborate, listing extra details such as the place of birth, full names of the parents and clarification on whether they survived the deceased, names of siblings and the spouses of children and even special family members like a beloved cousin.
More recently with the onset of the internet, obituaries can list multiple generations by name, and plunge into the pastimes and activities of the deceased. The write-up might mention their workplaces and religious beliefs. Sometimes, the family will give a shout out to any caretakers. The notice of someone’s death might often contain essential bits of information about the story of their life.
The 1864 obituary of James Kerr, the author’s 5x great-grandfather.
For a family researcher like me, it’s a goldmine.
I found my father’s maternal great-grandparents, both unknown to us descendants, through searching obituaries. I found a Pittsburgh Gazette news obituary for my 5x great-grandfather, James Kerr who died at age 86 in 1864. James Kerr warranted a news obituary, perhaps because he was a financial patron of the Gazette. Death notices filled in the stories of his son, grandson and so on through the descendants, until reaching my father, also James Kerr.
I found the obituary of my father’s paternal great-grandmother, learning she had spent nearly a decade of her final years in a state hospital. No one knows why, especially since her children had the means to support her.
The obituary of his other paternal great-grandmother, Sadie Butler Kerr, offered incredible information about her work with the Women’s Benefit Association of the Maccabees. She wasn’t just a millworker’s wife/widow eking out a life for her four children. She was a revolutionary, offering women access to life insurance. She was changing the lives of working class women. Sadie traveled around the region. She even organized picnics at Kennywood right up to her death in the 1920s. Her life was very hard, but also very large. And we never knew until I saw a women’s association listed in her death notice. The association wasn’t listed as a bragging point; it was added simply to notify them of her death.
I have unraveled many mysteries using obituaries. I found one set of my great-great-grandparents both through death notices and obituaries. Both were previously not known to any of us by name.
Will researchers generations from now know where to find details about my father?
How will we know?
The barrier of price is simply part of our economy. Some people have life insurance that can be applied to the obituary. If not, this is one of those occasions where people find the money somewhere. This is so ingrained in me that I remain aghast that I have not found a way to rectify it.
The barrier of shrinking media resources presents a different challenge. As the page width shrinks, the cost of the column width spikes. Or the page disappears altogether.
The obituary of Jim Kerr’s paternal great-grandmother, Sadie Butler Kerr.
I haven’t read the Post-Gazette in more than 18 months, in solidarity with the strike. I haven’t read a new obituary in that time either. The dawning realization that I was relying solely on social media to keep me informed on the lives and deaths of my classmates, neighbors and extended family is dismaying.
At least two of my casual friends have died in the past six months, as did one distant relative. I did not know until weeks or months later. That delay hurts me and the community. Others may find opportunities for this ritual limited as we lose our print media sources. Both are reflections of a future that is losing touch with important components of our past.
Newspapers serve as part of our communications network. The exchange of information about life and death events is essential not just for the broader construct of news, but for an informed public.
My Dad, Jim Kerr, died in February 2024. I should have been able to honor him with a traditional obituary, and inform his former colleagues, high school friends and neighbors. His legacy should be accessible to future generations.
If your father is alive and well and you have a good relationship with him, then these reminders of fathers and Father’s Day likely evoke happiness and thoughts of long summer nights. But for those of you are grieving, the fact that Father’s Day and summer advertising are inextricably linked can be a minefield for your emotions.
Much like Mother’s Day, the holiday was not originally meant to honor the living fathers, as it does today. The first celebrated Father’s Day in the United States was in 19081 in West Virginia, and it was to honor hundreds of men who had recently died in a mining accident.
But the holiday would not be officially recognized until the 1960s, when President Richard Nixon signed an executive order recognizing the holiday.
The early Father’s Days were meant to recognize and celebrate the roles fathers play in their children’s lives, acknowledging the shift from fathers who worked long hours in factories, leaving most of the child-rearing to mothers.
If you’re grieving on Father’s Day, you are well aware of the father-sized hole in your heart. You’re probably also keenly aware that Mother’s Day grief typically is more recognized—despite the fact that according to United States Census data from 2021,2 more people have experienced father loss than mother loss. (All loss is important, of course. Including and especially pet loss.)
Census data won’t keep you warm at night, though, so here’s a few tips from a therapist (who, at this writing, is currently experiencing anticipatory grief for my ill father) on how to get through this day and time of year.
Be Flexible
I know your heart is hurting, sweet reader, and you’re probably wondering why this weird writer is telling you to be flexible. No, I don’t mean to be flexible to other people (in fact, boundaries are great!). I mean to be flexible with yourself.
Often, in the face of Big Grief Days, we have a certain expectation of how the day will go. This expectation can take the shape of what our plans should look like on the day or even how we “should” feel.
Just because a month ago, you thought it might be a great day to go bungee jumping and distract yourself, doesn’t mean that’s what you will want to do when the day comes. Sure, there are some days when forcing yourself out to do something will help distract you a bit, but if you wake up feeling like you need to lay in bed and eat a pint of ice cream on Father’s Day because you’re sad, I think you should give yourself room to do that, too.
Remember That Father’s Day Is Just a Day on the Calendar
On the opposite side of the coin, if you’d planned a day of wallowing and you actually wake up feeling great and forgetting it’s Father’s Day, you get to honor that, too.
Just because society has designated this one day on the calendar to celebrate fathers doesn’t mean you Must Be Sad About Your Dead Dad on this specific day.
You don’t need to force yourself to be sad or make yourself sad if you’re not feeling sad on that day. It doesn’t make you a bad person, nor does it have anything to do with how much you loved them (or didn’t, if you had a difficult relationship). All it means is that you’re not sad on an arbitrary day on the calendar.
n fact, if you want to ignore that it’s Father’s Day, that is also perfectly acceptable.
But when I think of the love I got from him when I was younger, I think a lot of both his pragmatism and his generosity. My dad is a Vietnam Army helicopter pilot veteran who later ran a business (raised by a father who was also a veteran and who ran said business before him), so his pragmatism became as encoded into his DNA as his fiery red hair.
…if your dad didn’t show love to you in the ways you wish he had, I see you. And, as a therapist, I grant you permission to show yourself that love.
As a creative Aquarius who lives at the beach in Los Angeles and holds two liberal arts degrees, I’m maybe a little less pragmatic than him. While the therapist in me might argue that he saw things a little too black and white, she can also see that sometimes looking at a problem pragmatically instead of emotionally can slow down the spirals in my head.
He also did well financially and usually quietly picked up the bill at many family dinners out. Within our nuclear family unit—my mom, him, and me—there were few costs too great for the ones he loved.
As a single woman, I may define family a little differently these days by including friends as my chosen family, but I try to match that same generosity when I can, either financially or through my time.
Or Give Yourself the Love You Wish He’d Been Able to Give You
I’ll save the other ways I wish he’d shown love for my therapist, but I will say that if your dad didn’t show love to you in the ways you wish he had, I see you. And, as a therapist, I grant you permission to show yourself that love.
Whether it’s turning off the criticizing voice in your head or allowing yourself more ease, you’re allowed to do that. Nobody’s parents were perfect, and we all need a little bit of reparenting to help us meet our own emotional needs as adults.
I believe most parents mean well—and that despite that intent, their actions can still have a strong unintended impact that we can fix ourselves even if they don’t apologize.
Coping Is Coping
This might be a hot take coming from a therapist, but I believe coping doesn’t always have to be “healthy.” While, yes, we absolutely deserve to make the best and most nourishing choices for ourselves that we can—sometimes we also just need to get by.
A so-called maladaptive behavior is something that “prevents adapting or adjusting”—but I tell my clients that “nobody needs to be a perfect therapy bot and do all the ‘right’ things—even therapists.” (That very much includes this therapist, by the way.)
I am not advocating here for deliberately self-sabotaging (especially if it is a behavior that will affect any kind of recovery), but I’m also saying to grant yourself some humanity and the permission not to be perfect. In fact, I believe that putting pressure on yourself to always be coping in the best way possible is counterproductive.
So, you did something you know wasn’t necessarily the healthiest for you long-term, but it got you through Father’s Day? Great!
As long as you’re not causing lasting harm to yourself or others, I would say that this is actually the best example of either giving yourself the unconditional love you got from your dad—or that you wish you had gotten from your dad.
Either way, you’re not perfect, AND you still deserve to be loved.
