Lessons from the Obits

Sunday morning the paper comes. Only Sunday mornings. Mark Urben sits in his chair, his les pulled up as a sort of paper support as he creates his untidy pile of newspaper on the floor next to him. He usually starts with his favorite section, the glossy pages...where he weeds through dreams of sporting the latest electronic gizmos, forever searching for that non-existant sale on a flat screen plasma, which one day WILL appear. On that day when it shows up for next to nothing, I fully expect to see papers fly and skid marks appear on the floor marking his path from chair to driveway. After the glossy section, I'm not sure he reads much more, although, he does make every attempt at falsifying his interest in every other section of the paper. Some days I think his "paper reading" is his way of getting some much needed down time. Afterall, how could anyone sit and read the paper for FOUR hours straight?

At some point on Sunday I stroll by and scatter the mess even further in my atempt at finding the Metro and State section. You see, this is the only section I ever read. I know, I'm not fully up to date on the situation in our country, I don't know the latest news and politics of our city, but quite frankly, I just don't care right now. I'm too busy raising a family to get caught up in all that. Someday, when I've done my job at home, I will have more time to care, but for now, I will sit and read the obits. Yes, I WILL admit it. As morbid as it sounds, I love to read the obituaries. Why? I'm not exactly sure, I suppose it must have something to do with the stage of life that I'm in....this stage of trying to figure out what exactly this life is about, and what exactly I'm supposed to do with it. I'm learning. The obits are teaching. When I want to teach my children about "dairy" for instance, I do my best to expose them to as much information as I possibly can regarding "dairy".
I'm learning about life. I'm reading about life. Lives that hopefully have come full circle. I don't read them and weep (well sometimes I do), I read them and absorb what made up their lives. What interests did they have, how did they impact their little world? How were they special? And then I put the paper down, and go about my day with a greater appreciation for this day and a bit more enthusiasm for making it the best I possibly can. I smile at the sun shining and the noisy children. I slow down a little and absorb more than I would had I not taken the time to read about that strange face. I go out in to the world and maybe for just that day, I will see more unfamiliar faces and will be able to appreciate that they too are people just trying to get through this beautiful, yet sometimes rough life as best they can just like me. I don't know.