I reside directly across from a funeral home. Each day, as I observe the cars begin to queue and the mourners in somber attire assemble to bid farewell, I can’t help but ponder the narratives within. Who were they there to commemorate? What kind of journey had just concluded? Thus, most mornings, before I check my messages or the hospital roster, I peruse the obituaries.

As a kid, I linked funerals with powdered donuts. While the grown-ups were enveloped in grief, we children could relax in the reception area and indulge in the treats. I discovered early on that sadness and sweetness often come packaged together.

My journey into reading obituaries began as an odd little pastime; perhaps a tad morbid initially. But as time progressed, it transformed into something more profound: a grounding ritual, a method to honor the unseen connections among us all. Each obituary serves as a brief testament that every life, regardless of how fleeting or silent, weaves a narrative about what truly mattered.

In my role as a pediatric palliative-care physician, I navigate the fringes of these stories professionally. Delving into the obituaries keeps me tethered to their entirety. Many families of my patients share the obituary with me after their child passes, revealing insights that often leave me in awe of their beauty: a fondness for blueberries, a whimsical nickname, a kind gesture I never knew.

The practice of final reckoning

I first encountered the phrase “final accounting” in the Maisie Dobbs novels. Maisie, a psychologist and investigator shaped by the wounds of World War I, employs the term to depict the moment a person must confront their own narrative honestly. They must reckon with what has been accomplished and what remains undone, seeking peace in the process.

I was immediately drawn to that notion. It provided terminology for something I had sensed for ages but never articulated: the reflection I engage in at a patient’s life’s end, when I take a moment to review, recall, and release. Historical fiction, in its unique manner, serves as another avenue for ongoing education. It cultivates the imagination to reach back in time and understand how people derive meaning following profound suffering. Reading Maisie Dobbs illuminated for me that reflection is not self-indulgent. It is labor that enables us to continue.

Closing a case, concluding a narrative

When a child we care for passes away, there are always duties to fulfill: calls to make, notes to write, prescriptions to revoke, and forms to process. While the electronic record may appear “closed,” it doesn’t imply the task is complete.

I typically take a quiet moment before transitioning to the next case. I evaluate what we did, what we might have approached differently, and what insights we gained from that family. It isn’t an audit; it’s an expression of gratitude. This simple ritual grounds me; it prevents the emotional clutter of unresolved stories from piling up.

This, too, is a form of final accounting. It is how I come to terms with the confines of medicine and my own humanity.

Lessons from obituaries

Initially, I read them for the comfort of their structure. A well-crafted obituary possesses a rhythm: the dates, the loved ones, the accomplishments, and the interests. However, I soon began to discern patterns that surpassed the form. People seldom begin with career achievements. They start with love. The details that frequently appear are not the milestones of a resume but of a relational existence: the jokes, the gardens, the recipes, and the pets.

One morning, I read about a man noted for “never missing a Little League game.” On another day, a woman who “provided cinnamon rolls to every church potluck for four decades.” These are the understated acts that reverberate long after a person has departed.

In palliative care, we frequently discuss legacy projects: letters, recordings, and handprints. Yet, the truest legacy may lie in the steadfast kindness that remained undocumented until now.

A reflection for the living

Reading obituaries has transformed my approach to daily life. When I find myself preoccupied with emails or performance metrics, I pose a straightforward question: “Would this make the obit?”

It’s not a grim inquiry; it’s a values assessment. The response often steers me back toward reaching out to a friend, savoring moments with my daughter, or simply stepping outside to observe the shifting light. In medicine, where productivity is held in high regard, the obituaries remind me that we frequently bypass the very elements that truly endure. Listening, being present, and sharing laughter may represent the more crucial metrics for success.

Facing mortality without trepidation

Research indicates that individuals who contemplate mortality often emerge as more compassionate, generous, and grateful. Psychologists refer to this as “mortality salience,” the recognition of death that paradoxically enriches our experience of life.

For healthcare professionals, this recognition can offer protection. Rather than numbing ourselves against loss, we can internalize it. Each narrative becomes sustenance for empathy.