On July 4th my Grandpa Lucas passed away. This is the first of my grandparents to go. He lived 83 years of what I assumed to be a miserable life. I always knew my grandpa as a cranky old man. He was one of those guys that mumbles and curses under his breath. He worked a janitorial position at a local hotel for as long as I can remember and never once did he seem like he was happily married. Every day when he came home he sat down in his recliner, drank beer, and watched old black and white movies. This was his life.
Today while visiting with his family I saw another side of this man. Is it possible that there was a better side of him that I never saw?
The amazing thing about death is that people begin sharing pleasant memories of the deceased. No matter how they were viewed in life; everything changes once you are dead. You are no longer an old bastard, you are remembered as a jolly soul whose sarcasm and cynicism were witty.
Is it possible that we can never truly know who someone is until they are dead? Do we fail to appreciate them while they are alive instead masking their true self with our perception of them?
My great-grandma (age 98) passed away last year and I witnessed the same thing. I learned so many things about her at her funeral. I loved hearing all the wonderful memories of my relatives. I came to fully understand what a unique and strong woman she was and reveled in how much she meant to my family.
I wonder what people will say at my funeral, what memories will be shared, and what kind of person my grandkids will perceive me to be?
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