As humans, we have a tendency to overthink - to simplify and order and place boundaries. Never is this more apparent than when someone we know passes away.
We want to remember the good parts of the departed, of course. But how do you compress a person's existence of decades into a few words without losing their essence? I don't think we really can.
When my father in law died suddenly, the funeral parlor overflowed out into the sidewalk with people wanting to pay their respects during the service. And many people who did come up to speak explained why. Jim was a good man.
He really was. The evidence was pretty clear on that score.
But, he was also a man. A human. Complex and flawed, as we all are.
The real Jim came out when people began remembering and sharing stories that were not just the most appropriate, polished parts. I mean, he was all of those appropriate, polished parts too. But he was also the man who told his son to "run on the nails" if they were going to do something so stupid as run across barn roofs. He was also the man who once bought a motorcycle to save money on gas and then realized he was getting better milage with an old rustbucket Datsun - which also had a roof. And he was a man who punched a pig and broke his knuckle when the old sow didn't want to move.
Jim was the man who called my black cat his "grandcat." And he was the man who made my 18 month old son a tiny little creeper so they could work on cars together.
He died before they got to use it. We found it waiting in the garage.
So many obituaries and tribues we read are so cold and sterile. Reduced to nothing. "So and so, survived by her children, worked hard, died suddenly. Loved by these people. Rest in peace."
Carrie Fisher was no different. The magazines showed photos of Princess Leia. Included some facts and figures.
And then, Dan Aykroyd wrote something different. Something that wasn't just the most appropriate, polished parts. He wrote about a woman he met during the filming of The Blues Brothers. A woman who was briefly his fiancee. A woman with a biting sense of humor... who also loved and married someone else.
"While in Chicago we obtained blood tests for compatibility from an East Indian female doctor. Contemplating marriage, I gave Carrie a sapphire ring and subsequently in the romance she gave me a Donald Roller Wilson oil painting of a monkey in a blue dress next to a tiny floating pencil, which I kept for years until it began to frighten my children."
Relationships are another thing we sometimes oversimplify.
Dan Aykroyd's tribute to Carrie is brief, but embodies her humanity in a way other tributes seldom did. And more importantly, it has a part of him, too, giving their love a shape and dimension that is more than a brief statement on paper.
It's better to love and remember, I think, the whole person. The flaws and the parts that sparkle. In a way, it keeps them alive in a way that a clinical summary never will. It brings them to life for others in the way we saw and loved them... at least, a little bit. It's not perfect. But I think it shouldn't be. Somehow, it's actually better this way.
Dan Aykroyd's close is perhaps the most poignant - a tribute to the fact that love can also continue on in a way, even after a relationship ends, and it's okay. He wrote: "She was also in love with Paul Simon. She married him but I hope she kept my ring."
Love isn't black and white. It doesn't always have a clean beginning and end. It doesn't have to color within the lines or fit perfectly in some definition. And it's OK if it includes other people within the warmth of its circle.
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