We all know that awkward feeling when someone dies and you don’t know what to say. The Swansea Evening Post gives us a script. “So sorry to hear about your mum,” you can say to a neighbor. “I saw the lovely notice in the paper.” It’s a simple, quiet bridge between hearts. The page is a public hug disguised as print.
And heaven forbid you miss one. My Auntie Gwen would call me up and say, “Did you see Mr. Evans from number 14 passed? His notice said he was a keen gardener.” She’d then recount his prize-winning dahlias. It became a ritual. For her, reading the deaths was like checking in on the neighbourhood’s health. It’s gossip with a soul.
The rhythm of everyday life
Let’s be real: life is messy, and death is part of that mess. But the notices also celebrate what came before. “Beloved husband, father, and grandad, who loved his Sunday roasts.” That’s not sad—that’s a cheerful menu of life. It’s a reminder to all of us: go eat that Sunday roast, hug your people, and don’t be a grouch about the washing-up.
Donald (Don) Strawbridge: Swansea Obituary & Death Notice - Swansea
Every time I see a notice for someone under, say, 50, I stop and take a breath. It’s a quiet nudge to grab life by the handlebars. The page acts like a gentle, old-school alarm clock. It doesn’t scream; it whispers, “Hey, don’t waste today on a bad mood.” It’s surprisingly pep-talk-ish for a column about endings.
