When I imagine someone's life, even if I only know a part of it, I tend to extract representative parts from that small portion, connect them together, and confirm each other, thus forming an impression of their life.
But not including my grandfather. I only know that he was a soldier, raised chickens and ducks, all of which died. When he was old, he would let the saleswoman of health products come to our house when my parents were not home. He was proud of my calligraphy when I was young. He would cheat when playing chess with me. He would secretly go to KFC to eat hamburgers. He would get angry when I said he was born in the Year of the Dog. He would stand in front of me with open arms to block my mom when she wanted to hit me. Some of these things are related to me, some are not. Some are significant in his life, while others are accidental stains on the paper. I seem to have never tried to connect these things about him, so now, when I miss him, I don't even know what kind of person I am missing. I think he is the person who loves me the most in the world, but this is not a part of his character, and I don't really understand him.
Is it a kind of sadness to not truly understand? It depends on what it means to understand. If understanding is a summary statement, a self-proclaimed experience, I hope this will never happen. If understanding is a fleeting feeling that gradually settles down, so that when two people are together, there is only tranquility, then it should be happy.
I am a very realistic person, but I believe in friendship with the deceased, friendship with imaginary companions, and so on. Maybe it's because no one will ask what the next part of the story is.
I suspect that the motivation to connect the dots is partly driven by self-interest, partly by maintaining a sense of moral goodness, and partly by our compulsiveness. There should be some better reasons, such as curiosity, such as really wanting to see/hear/read about him again, such pure desire.
Recently, at the entrance of the church with purple and green glass doors at school, I had a slightly sad conversation with three classmates. The campus is so beautiful, even sadness reflects a colorful and light glow.
I want to do something.