Knowing a person and never really knowing them

So Lovely Mans father was finally laid to rest. Many people wanted to speak about him and indeed many did.

And I was astounded.

Astounded that this person I had known for so many years and could often be quite vile to his family members, could touch the hearts of so many others.

I watched from the car as the line of people attending his service snaked round the corner, ever growing as we pulled up. I listened to speaker after speaker say what a wonderful man he had been, always smiling and joking with them, standing up for the ‘common man’ with such passion and never forgetting his roots. You don’t forget things like that. It made me proud to have known him, and I know it will help Gorgeous Girl with her grieving process. She adored him and they had a fantastic relationship, so she’s taking it very hard.

Lovely Man however, I’m not sure about.

He’s grieving obviously, but who should he grieve for? This kind, caring person who put the problems of others before his own and who stood up for the people who couldn’t stand up for themselves, or the other one who bullied him, mocked him and never helped him with anything, instead belittling him at what seemed to be every opportunity?

He’s torn between being proud of his father (which he is), and being angry with him for being such a different person at home. He loved his dad of course, but is frustrated that he was so kind to others yet such a nasty bugger to his family.

When I take a step back and look at the situation, I think maybe he had some narcissistic tendencies. He loved to be the centre of attention and to create drama wherever he went. He was also a ladies man, particularly when he was younger, but it never quite left him and when talking to a lovely lady at the wake, she was telling me stories of him picking her up to take her to work and showing off by driving very fast and sounding his horn to scare old ladies off the crossings – in his 70’s! 🙄

Perhaps his craving for this attention and need to fight for others meant he didn’t have enough of himself left to give to his family, and that was why he was so different. Perhaps it was the way he was brought up himself and he didn’t know any better. Perhaps he just didn’t care enough.

Perhaps we’ll never know.

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