I Lied About My Grandpa

Okay, Sacred Posts, here goes nothing. I need to get this off my chest because it's been eating me alive for years. It's about my grandpa, and something I did after he died. And it's about lying.

My grandpa, he wasn't perfect. He was a grumpy old dude, always complaining about the news and the price of gas. But he loved us grandkids. He used to take us fishing, even though he mostly just sat there and grumbled. He taught me how to bait a hook and how to tell a good story (even if his stories were usually the same ones over and over).

He got sick, real sick, the kind where you know it's not going to get better. We all knew it was coming, but it still hit us hard when he finally went. The funeral was... a blur. Lots of crying, lots of people saying nice things. And then came the eulogy. My mom asked me to do it. Me! I was like, terrified. I'm not good at public speaking. I get all sweaty and my voice cracks.

But I couldn't say no. It was for Grandpa. So I wrote something. I tried to make it funny, like he would have wanted. I told a few stories about our fishing trips, and about his terrible jokes. People laughed, and that made me feel a little better.

Then I got to the part where I was supposed to talk about what he meant to me. And that's where I messed up. I said he was the most patient man I ever knew. I said he always had time for us, that he was always there to listen. I said he was a saint.

And it was a lie. Or, at least, a huge exaggeration. He wasn't *always* patient. Sometimes he'd snap at us for being noisy or clumsy. And he wasn't *always* there. He worked a lot, and sometimes he was just too tired to deal with us. He wasn't a saint! He was just a regular guy, with flaws and bad days and everything.

But I said all those things, those nice, perfect things. And everyone loved it. They told me it was the most beautiful eulogy they'd ever heard. My mom cried, and hugged me tight. And I felt... awful. Because I knew I was lying. I was painting a picture of him that wasn't entirely true.

I've carried that guilt around for years. I never told anyone. I'm telling you now, Sacred Posts, because I need to. I don't know why I lied. Maybe I wanted to make him sound better than he was. Maybe I wanted to make myself look good, like I had this perfect grandpa. I don't know. But it was wrong. It wasn't fair to him, or to anyone who actually knew him.

I wish I could take it back. I wish I had just told the truth, the messy, complicated truth about my grandpa. He deserved that, at least. Maybe writing this down will help, even a little.