How do you remember your deceased loved ones?

I remember them as they lived. Living life to it's fullest and pursuing dreams.

This may be weird but when my closest loved ones pass, I'm thinking about never seeing them so I don't have that last memory

In my mind’s eye,

He drinks a whiskey drink
He drinks a vodka drink
He drinks a lager drink
He drinks a cider drink
He sings the songs that remind him of the good times
He sings the songs that remind him of the better times

I try to remember the good times ...in the last two years I was the hospice caregiver for my dad and my brother in law plus I had an infant die 16 years ago. Dad and brother in law are remembered fondly...the only time I spent with my son were not good because he was born extremely premature so all memories I have of him is his struggling to live for the week he was alive.

I simply refuse to remember them at all.



After decades (and decades), they sadly have become shadows of shades.

Like a memory of a memory. And I don’t dwell on them.

I remember the good times.

I don't look at them in the casket or when they are dead because that's what I'll remember.

When I’m lucky, I see him in my dreams. Laughing. Hale and healthy and in his prime.

I wish those dreams would last forever. Alas, they are bittersweet, and the cruel dawn a reminder he is gone.

Dads dad. Huge man. Mechanic. His wrists and hands were massive. When guys say “knuckle check” on here I think of him. You wouldn’t have tested him.

His wife. Sweetest old lady. Always remember her calling when we got to town. Asking what I wanted to eat. Always the same. Her roast and rice and gravy.

Moms dad. Old farmer. Always hustling. Khaki coveralls. He quit smoking in the early 70’s when his first daughter was diagnosed with asthma. So he ALWAYS had wrigleys gum in his pocket.

His wife. Tough arse kicker. Always remember snakes and her did not mix. We’d help her pick her chicken eggs. I reached into a snake. Squealed like a little girl. She can over, muttered (probably a curse) in French and grabbed that fricker by hand. She got it on the ground and caught it’s tail. Hit it on the ground like a bull whip. My other grandmother had her beat cooking, except fried chicken. I still have an occasional dream about her fried chicken.

For me, it depends on how they impacted me when alive.

The old saying "You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family." comes to mind. Some of my family members, both immediate and extended, I could give a rat's arse about and none of them would be what I'd consider friend material. And that is how they are remembered.