When I Die

I have a lot of dead relatives. In some ways it's probably good, how else would you find chairs for everyone at Thanksgiving? But, in some ways, bad because there are a some of those relatives I wouldn't mind seeing again. Well, in case you are new to my ramblings, one of the many things my gene pool is famous for is telling stories. Of course the stories get much better with time!

Anyway, we love to tell stories about our family, both the living and the dead. But, I have noticed that many times when we talk about some of the dear departed we tend to overlook a lot of their faults. Oh I know the whole "don't speak evil of the dead" thing, but the reality is that the those that are on the other side of the veil, had just as many foibles, shortcomings, and times when they dropped their basket as the rest of us.

My Dad was awesome, he is still awesome, but the truth of the matter was that he littered (copiously), he transported illegal fireworks across state lines, and he had been known to shoot deer without a license. And one time, I even saw him cut down a tree and it fell right on on his open pickup door. So despite what my Mother and sisters claim, he wasn't perfect.

My sister Ellen suffered for so many years with her chronic illness, but I'm pretty sure none of us can say she did it without a complaint. My Grandparents accomplished so much, but they had a few glitches too. Even my dear venerated ancestors that crossed the plains, I am sure, had a few faults. After all they didn't leave Nauvoo because they thought it would be a great adventure to journey in the wild west, they left because they were thrown out by the mobs.

I think at times we do ourselves and our children a dis-service when we make folk heroes out of their progenitors. After some of the stories I was told as a child there was no way, I knew, that I was ever going to measure up. Ten feet tall and bullet proof is a great story but the reality is that most of those people were just that, people. They would probably be extremely embarrassed about the way we have built them up. My ancestors struggled across the plains because they had no choice. My Grandparents achieved because they worked hard, and they all had serious setbacks both personally and financially. My sister struggled with her disease, when she would rather have led a quiet life. And, finally, I think my Dad would be disgusted with some of the ways we remember him. We are all human, put on this earth to do the best we can. I hope my children remember both my struggles and achievements at the end of my life, the times I achieved and I failed. Those are the stories from all of us that truly inspire.