Hillside Funeral Obituaries

So, you’ve heard of a standard obituary, right? You know, the dry list of “beloved spouse of” and “loving gardener,” with a photo that looks like it was taken at a DMV. But there’s a whole new world of death announcements out there, and it’s hilariously weird: hillside funeral obituaries.

These aren’t your grandma’s boring death notices. No sir, these are the Shakespearean sonnets of the afterlife, written by people who think their deceased relative is the most fascinating, slightly unhinged celebrity to ever shuffle off this mortal coil. Imagine a eulogy written by a drunk, proud uncle at a wedding.

One famous example reads: “He could predict the exact moment the toaster would burn the bagel. He was wrong every time, but he never gave up.” I’m not making this up. That’s a real, published line from a hillside funeral. Who knew that being terrible at breakfast prediction was a virtue?

The Greatest Hits of Grief

You get a lot of these gems. One obituary boasted that the dearly departed “once ate an entire jar of pickles in a single sitting to prove a point about taxes.” The point was never revealed. The pickle jar was, however, found empty in the recycling bin, a silent monument to political philosophy.

Another classic: “She was a master of the unrequested opinion. She could tell you why your hair was wrong in under three seconds, and often did, from inside a moving car.” You can’t buy that kind of raw, unfiltered honesty. Or you can, but it costs you a funeral.

Here’s a surprising fact: Hillside Funeral Home in particular has a legendary policy of “zero censorship.” If you want to say your dad “chased a goose through a mall in 1987 for the principle of the thing,” they print it. They’ve published obituaries that mention secret stashes of roadkill art and a lifelong commitment to eating only the crust off sandwiches.

Mcarthur Griffin Obituary at Alexis Kevin blog

The Art of the Exaggeration

These obituaries have turned grief into a bizarre comedy roast. One read: “His final whisper was, ‘I still think the ’98 Buick was the better car.’ He was wrong, but we love him anyway.” The funeral director later admitted the man actually just wanted a glass of water. Too late, buddy. You’re now a Buick legend.

Another masterwork: “She is survived by her three cats, all of whom are furious she didn’t say goodbye.” I imagine the cats are now writing their own obituaries for her. “Gone are the tuna cans. The struggle continues.”

The trick is that these obituaries aren’t disrespectful—they’re brutally honest. They remind us that life is a ridiculous, messy, and often hilarious accident. If your grandpa spent his retirement trying to build a rocket ship out of lawn chairs, you should say so.

Frances Ruffolo Obituary | 1948 - 2025 | Hillside, IL

Why You Should Write One

Forget a boring headstone. Write a hillside-funeral-style obituary. List the weirdest things: “She could find Waldo in under four seconds, but never found her car keys. Ever.” That’s a legacy. That’s art.

And remember: It’s okay to laugh at the dead. They’d probably laugh at you, especially if you’re still alive and paying for overpriced bags of salad. One hillside obituary actually ended with: “He always said, ‘If I die, don’t be sad. Just flush my teeth down the toilet.’ We didn’t. But we thought about it.”

So next time you see a death notice that mentions someone’s “epic struggle with a lawn gnome,” don’t weep. Salute them. They’ve officially made the afterlife more entertaining than the one you’re living right now. And honestly? That’s a victory.