I met him on his death bed. At 9 years old, I never questioned why I didn't know my grandfather before then - it was just how it was.
Our mother's hands, placed strategically on our backs - high enough to add a degree of comfort, but low enough to silence any protest on our parts - drove my brother and I into the back bedroom of the small, unfamiliar house. Looking back, it seems as though we may have offered some sort of barrier for her from what loomed ahead.
We entered the room to find an old, diminished man lying in the bed that consumed most of the room's space. He was propped up with pillows and his eyes seemed to pierce. He spoke, "You two look as dumb as a post."
This was his first and, at his state, it was possibly the last thing said to his posterity. What I didn't catch on to in my youth was, that this short, brief encounter told so much of the dying man. This wasn't a man bitter because he was dying. This man wasn't simply having "a bad day." That was who he was. I guess you could give the old man props for forsaking any guile at that point.
Shortly after, he died. There was probably one or two more encounters between our first and then, but I cannot remember them. What I do remember was his eulogy. It was not dissimilar to those of great, beloved ones of mine that had passed before. This was puzzling to me even then.
My father and his siblings all share feelings of bitterness and abandonment when it comes to their father to this day. While alive, few had anything good to say about him, yet, in death he was, dare I say, glorified.
Is it our society? Why is it that we can't say these wonderful things about some until they are dead, and we can't say the down-right shitty things about one once they have perished? Is it as simple as the old-fashioned fear of speaking ill of the dead? Or is it we feel free from the commitment our good words may bring upon a dead man's corpse, yet love the good feeling we get when saying them? Is it that we are trying to justify our tears to the world by displaying our great loss? Is it that we are trained to lie from infancy - to others and ourselves? "When someone tells you they love you, you say it back" "When someone says 'thank you' you say 'you're welcome'" "Don't say you don't like that; that's rude. Tell them it's nice." "Does this dress make mommy look fat?"
Our mother's hands, placed strategically on our backs - high enough to add a degree of comfort, but low enough to silence any protest on our parts - drove my brother and I into the back bedroom of the small, unfamiliar house. Looking back, it seems as though we may have offered some sort of barrier for her from what loomed ahead.
We entered the room to find an old, diminished man lying in the bed that consumed most of the room's space. He was propped up with pillows and his eyes seemed to pierce. He spoke, "You two look as dumb as a post."
This was his first and, at his state, it was possibly the last thing said to his posterity. What I didn't catch on to in my youth was, that this short, brief encounter told so much of the dying man. This wasn't a man bitter because he was dying. This man wasn't simply having "a bad day." That was who he was. I guess you could give the old man props for forsaking any guile at that point.
Shortly after, he died. There was probably one or two more encounters between our first and then, but I cannot remember them. What I do remember was his eulogy. It was not dissimilar to those of great, beloved ones of mine that had passed before. This was puzzling to me even then.
My father and his siblings all share feelings of bitterness and abandonment when it comes to their father to this day. While alive, few had anything good to say about him, yet, in death he was, dare I say, glorified.
Is it our society? Why is it that we can't say these wonderful things about some until they are dead, and we can't say the down-right shitty things about one once they have perished? Is it as simple as the old-fashioned fear of speaking ill of the dead? Or is it we feel free from the commitment our good words may bring upon a dead man's corpse, yet love the good feeling we get when saying them? Is it that we are trying to justify our tears to the world by displaying our great loss? Is it that we are trained to lie from infancy - to others and ourselves? "When someone tells you they love you, you say it back" "When someone says 'thank you' you say 'you're welcome'" "Don't say you don't like that; that's rude. Tell them it's nice." "Does this dress make mommy look fat?"
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