What Happens When We Go?

Three things are certain in life: death, summer music festivals, and the absolute poetry that The Stranger’s death-themed issue is my last at this paper.

Our August issue’s feature package started with a pitch for a photo series from photographer Madison Kirkman. Two years ago, they lost a dear friend, quickly and unexpectedly. The grief hit them like a Mack truck. And because we don’t learn how to grieve before it happens, no one showed them how to keep it from isolating them. Consuming them. So they started looking for teachers. And in doing that, they discovered a network of death and grief workers—people who have dedicated their lives to looking this singularly shared human experience in the face, treating it like something real, tangible, and most importantly, survivable.

Then Stranger contributor Bess Lovejoy told us about the Grievers Library—a project founded by Pamela Belyea, that reimagined the Little Free Library to be a collection of books and resources that she never had when she lost her child. And with that, we wondered if we had a death package on our hands. It kicked off a conversation in our office that lasted weeks. We talked about planning our own funerals. We talked about the vernacular of death: how we use the language of religion or art or atheism to understand what does (or doesn’t) come next. And it expanded outside of editorial: Our marketing manager, Evanne Hall, has one of the most heartwarming stories about Death with Dignity that we’ve ever heard. Others write about the unexpected holes those family members left behind.

When we first decided to make this issue, I didn’t know this would be my last at The Stranger. And to be perfectly honest, I’ve been a little annoyed by it. It’s almost too perfect. (Did we joke about designing a tombstone that read “Hannah Murphy Winter: 2024–2026”? Absolutely.)

But all of the poetic absurdity aside, creating a package about death while going through a huge change is, quite genuinely, a gift. Death is like sex. We do our best to not talk about it in polite company. And we only talk about it once it’s already on top of us, not when we have the chance to see it with some perspective. But it’s also like sex because it shapes so much more about our lives than just the individual act. This package is about looking at something huge and inevitable in the face, and naming it. Moving through it. And letting it be a part of us. Learning about grief and death makes us better at being human in our lives.

I got to be a part of this paper for two years of its long, storied life, and we get to be a part of each other for many years after that. I love The Stranger. And I’ll keep loving it—and the team that creates it—from the other side.

Bon Voyage,

Hannah Murphy Winter
Editor-in-Chief
2024–2026

This Issue Brought to You By

In loving memory of Hellebore, a sweet and cunty black Netherland Dwarf who returned to the care of the Dark Lord. May she rest in bananas and head pets.

The dreams I cannot share

The Pope/Anti-Pope and the US Attorney/Anti-US Attorney

“Big Boss Big Time Business” by Santigold

Mercury most certainly in the microwave

Julia from Love Island UK

Practical effects

The consistency of cat

Tiiiiiiiight, not tiiiiiiiite

Caterpillar poop all over the desk

Metropolitan Market chef’s sushi sampler

’eeping with one leg out of the blanky

Mai Tais, bottomless