Herald Opinion: Death and funerals are a huge part of Irish life

Death, something we’re all guaranteed, just like taxes, they tell us. In fact, the quote, "In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes," is attributed to Benjamin Franklin, who included it in a letter to Jean-Baptiste Le Roy way back in November, 1789. So, we’ve been paying taxes for a while—and dying for much longer.

The big thing about death, though, is that we announce it, share it, and make it known. People hear we’ve passed away, and they then have a choice to make: Will I go to the funeral? Will I send my condolences? What will I do? It’s a moment of reckoning not just for the deceased but for those left behind, as they navigate the social obligations that death so reliably brings with it.

Ah yes, funerals. One of the things that we Irish do very well.

Some might say we’ve turned the funeral into an art form. There’s a rhythm to it, a choreography that’s evolved over generations. First comes the death notice. These days, it’s on RIP.ie, and, of course, also on local radio. In both cases, you can leave your condolences to be read by the family—or, let’s be honest, by everyone. There are people who spend their day reading RIP.ie, scrolling through the notices and the condolences like they’re flicking through a novel of life and loss.

When I was a child, and well into my early adult years, death notices appeared in the newspaper. They were towards the back, on a page smartly nicknamed "Hatched, Matched, and Dispatched," because this was where births, marriages, and deaths were announced. The inside back page of the Irish Independent used to be full of these notices, and they followed a particular formula.

Many notices included a coded message at the end: "English and American Papers please copy." It was a quiet nod to the emigrants, a hope that the word would spread to those who had left for foreign shores. And then there was the choice of newspaper itself. A Fianna Fáil family would publish in the Irish Press, while others stuck with the Irish Independent, and some in both.

Today, the newspapers carry just a handful of death notices—priests and nuns still seem to prefer the paper—but most of us have moved on to RIP.ie or local radio stations.

These modern notices have their own language. You’ll often see phrases like "House private," "No flowers please," or "Donations in lieu to…" And then there are the poetic openings: "Peacefully, surrounded by her family," or perhaps the more sombre, "Suddenly, but peacefully." The choice of words still matters deeply.

And of late, there’s so much talk about the website RIP.ie. Since the first of January, there is now a fee of €100 being charged for hosting death notices. In truth, I always assumed there was already a significant fee. After all, the local radio stations charge for their announcements, and newspapers have always charged for obituaries.

My grandfather had a great perspective. He once told a friend who was worried about the cost of his own funeral: “Relax and don’t worry. Sure, they’ll bury you for the smell of you, if not the love of you.” Still, the €100 fee seems to have sparked widespread outrage. It’s a reflection, perhaps, of how important we place death notices as part of our tradition. It also says something about how the internet, once celebrated as a free and open platform, has shifted toward commercialism. Newspapers have long since introduced paywalls to fund journalism, and websites like RIP.ie have costs to cover too—moderation, hosting, and the work of maintaining a platform.

The reaction to the €100 fee on RIP.ie is testament to how deeply embedded RIP.ie has become in our culture, and how important death and funerals remain in Irish life.

It’s not just about announcing a death; it’s about keeping the tradition alive, even in a changing world. For all our modernity, the old rhythms remain. We still come together when someone dies. We still tell their stories, share their memory, and give them a proper farewell. And in that, perhaps, lies the true art of the Irish funeral.