pwndcake

I got into the habit a few years ago of writing eulogies for people. It started shortly after Natasha left. I found it real hard to be upset about people when I thought about having to speak at their funeral. As much as I might hate someone in life, once dead I have no choice but to remember them for the good as well as the bad. I think my grandfather taught me that. I always thought he was a monster growing up. An abusive alcoholic in his youth, a slack-jawed dullard in his old age. I pitied him in the end, though, when Alzheimer's took him. Hearing stories of my aunt locking him in his room so he wouldn't wander and get lost, or because she didn't feel like dealing with him.

I forgot all of it at his funeral. Listening to my aunts talk about his life without ever revealing the hell he'd put all of them through. They just talked about the things they were proud of, and they were happy remembering. He was a soldier in World War 2. He went on to become an engineer for NASA. He worked on projects for the first moon landing, and continued to work there until he retired in the 80's. Father of 6 kids, he took every opportunity to drive those kids and his wife across the country. I can barely stand being in a car with one other person for 6 hours. I can't imagine driving a bus with 6 kids back and forth across the country. I guess that might drive me to drink, too. He loved dogs, and a good glass of whiskey, and a fine cigar. He loved his wife, and his kids. So they said that day.
There weren't any tears for my grandfather. Not from me. That was the first time I realized that behind all the anger my mom had at her dad she had all these fond memories she just couldn't remember until he was gone.

So while out walking aimlessly around Santa Ana early one morning thinking about how pissed off I was I started imagining speaking at Natasha's funeral. Things change when you think someone is gone. Maybe it's just easier to admit some things when there is no chance they'll ever be used against us. All the grudges disappear, taking all the unanswered questions and demands with them, leaving only the memories they left you with. The good ones and the bad. We spend enough time hating each other while we live. Maybe we give the dead a reprieve, at least for the duration of their funeral. For a moment we admit that we took some joy from the lives of the people we've met. Even the ones who have wronged us, and we have wronged.

So I started writing eulogies for people. The people who are dead to me that I know I'll never see or talk to again. When closure is called for, I'd rather remember them as dead where I can remember them in the light of an afternoon funeral. Where the grudges are forgotten, and all I have left are the good memories before saying goodbye forever.