“Ivan Ilych has died,” an acquaintance reads from the announcement of a formal obituary. Having followed earlier reports of Ivan’s mysterious illness, his colleagues in the judiciary are not surprised. In his classic story “The Death of Ivan Ilych,” Tolstoy recounts how they mourn in keeping with the hardness of their hearts. Each of them asks how the death will affect his own position. Each of them wonders how to avoid the coming funeral. And, most telling, each congratulates himself on still being alive.

At least Ivan had his obituary, bordered in black, in the widely read St. Petersburg Gazette. Death notices are of long standing. Notable ancient Romans had theirs written on a papyrus newsletter. Indeed, “obituary” comes from the Latin obitus, which means “death.” These days one needn’t be notable to have an obituary, but it helps to have some money set aside. Aiming for the New York Times? The charge of late has been $236 for the first four lines and $50 per line after that.

And who will write the obituary? Some memorialists revel in pathos. Others prefer bathos. A recent entry in the Los Angeles Times, written by the brother of the deceased, informs us that “Matthew Charles Slay of Trinidad, CA, passed away last week following a brief and courageous battle with an oversized piece of steak.” Increasingly, there is no mention of funeral arrangements other than to say that there will be no funeral. There are, though, alternatives. Here’s one: “At [the deceased’s] request there will be no funeral service. In her honor, please join us by eating a piece of dark chocolate and sharing flowers with another.” No need, is there, for the elegiac when ready cheer suffices?

Obituaries, no doubt, are a kind of postscript to the tiresome dealing with our mortality. To fend off our demise, we must make friends with the pharmacist, keep lots of doctor’s appointments, eat more vegetables, and drink less beer. Not to mention certain botherations that involve various items that are “delivered discreetly.” Even with such varied adjustments, we can look forward to necessary hospitalizations — though shortened for insurance purposes. Of course, it’s always good to be going home but next time it might be the mortuary.

What’s the takeaway from this lament? Friends who have celebrated even more birthdays than I have are surely right: Old age isn’t for sissies. It’s a lesson that only underscores the realism of Scripture. “The days of our life are seventy years, or perhaps eighty, if we are strong; even then their span is only toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away” (Psalm 90:10). Yes, there are stunning medical advances, but they are inescapably limited. And, yes, for the affluent there is not so much visible toil and trouble as there is for so many others. No matter, we are soon enough gone.

How, then, ought we to prepare for the death that we know will come? St. John Henry Newman died (in the language once found in obituaries) in the 89th year of his age. Of late, I’ve been turning to Newman’s Prayer for a Good Death. Newman first asks for the grace of the Sacraments:

Oh, my Lord and Saviour,
support me in that hour in the strong arms of Your Sacraments,
and by the fresh fragrance of Your consolations.
Let the absolving words be said over me,
and the holy oil sign and seal me,
and Your own Body be my food,
and Your Blood my sprinkling…

Then he summons the help of the Virgin, of his own angel, and of all the saints:

…let my sweet Mother, Mary, breathe on me,
and my Angel whisper peace to me,
and my glorious Saints smile upon me;
that in them all,
and through them all,
I may receive the gift of perseverance,

Lastly, he joins the life he has lived to the death that comes:

…and die, as I desire to live,
in Your faith,
in Your Church,
in Your service,
and in Your love.

Today, we recognize John Henry Newman as a Doctor of the Church and one of the blessed to whom we can pray for the gift of perseverance, even in this bent world of ours.