Overkill for the Dead

Last Friday when I heard of the death of Tim Russert, my fragile heart broke. I was sad as hell for his wife and son and father. Just like that, whoosh, he was gone forever. I felt I had to do what I usually don’t do. I had to post over Fred the Cat’s post on Friday. I wanted to say something about Tim Russert’s death, and I did.

But then something began to happen on TV. Everyone began to talk of Mr. Russert’s death and give verbal tributes to the man. At first it was fitting and admirable, but as the hours and days passed, these tributes became noise and chatter. They made him bigger than life and more important than I think he himself would have admitted.

By Sunday morning all had been said that could be said. All had cried who wanted to cry. More memories had been exposed than maybe should have been shared. By midday Sunday it went from reverence to ridiculous.

There comes a time when it is best to allow the dead to remain as such and silently grieve if that is what is in your heart. What the media did to this man’s death was to use their own emotions to the point of overkill. At some point, their chatter and redundancy became irritating rather than sincere. When that happened I feel they were dishonoring his life and his death.