Today’s listings reveal the timeless rhythm of loss in a mid-sized European city. There is a notice for a retired professor from Liman, a baker from Podbara, a longtime worker at the former "Neoplanta" factory. Others are younger—a stark reminder that grief does not only visit the elderly. Alongside family-placed notices, the newspaper also runs official death notices from the city’s funeral homes and the Novi Sad cemetery management, listing burials at the Almaško groblje and the new Gradsko groblje in Veternik.
Večna im pamjat. (May their memory be eternal.) novosadski dnevnik citulje danas novi sad
Scanning the black-framed columns this morning, one finds a mosaic of names, ages, and final farewells. They are arranged with the familiar, almost liturgical, formality: a photograph in the top corner, the years of birth and death marking a life’s arc, followed by the names of the grieving—children, grandchildren, siblings, and friends who remain. The language is a blend of Vojvodina’s characteristic warmth and restrained grief, with phrases like "večna ti ravan, zemljo srpska" (eternal be your plain, Serbian soil) or simply "hvala ti za sve" (thank you for everything). Today’s listings reveal the timeless rhythm of loss