One of the first songs I remember learning was "If I Had A Hammer" by Pete Seeger. My grandmother would always sing the liberal folk music canon to my sister and me: "If I Had A Hammer," "Union Maid," "This Land Is Your Land," and countless others. At the time, I didn't fully understand what the songs were about, only that they were easy to sing along to and were somehow important to members of my family. Shortly after my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, she took my family to see a documentary about Pete Seeger.

I didn't want to go; the idea of spending time with my grandmother while she was dying terrified me. I didn't want to acknowledge what was happening. My mother forced me to go of course, but I can't say I remember enjoying it. After my grandmother died, I stopped listening to Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie and other folk musicians, partially out of trying to fit in with my friends' musical tastes and partially because they reminded me too much of her. 

It wasn't until Pete Seeger was a guest on The Colbert Report that I started listening to old folk music again. I was older, almost out of high school, and trying to determine what sort of person I wanted to be as I grew into an adult. Even a few years after my grandmother died, I rarely talked about her, and would grow uncomfortable whenever my aunt or my mother brought her up. At the same time, though, I knew I also wanted to make her proud of me.
It is a contradiction that still bothers me: I wondered what my grandmother would think of who I was becoming, while still feeling guilty for ignoring her as she died. I am troubled by my own idealization of her.

My grandmother was an amazing woman; she was active in the Civil Rights Movement and the anti-war movement during the Vietnam War. It's often all too easy for me to brag about her achievements, both as an individual and a part of the bioethics community. It is also all too easy for me to forget that she was by no means the perfect person I make her out to be.

After someone you love dies, it is easy to look back and romanticize them. Certainly people have done this with Pete Seeger. Read obituaries of him, or listen to news broadcasters share his life story and you'll find they typically don't mention his often-controversial politics. The New York Times obituary mainly focuses on how Seeger inspired Bob Dylan or sang with civil rights marchers, but glosses over his relationship with and membership in the Communist Party, or his active involvement in the Occupy movement. The focus is on the non-controversial things Seeger did, the things that people find nice and safe rather than the aspects of Seeger's life and personal philosophy that so informed his music.

I find it troubling to romanticize people, to change the past to fit in with your own perceptions of how someone ought to have been. I'm not saying I am innocent of it either. It's easier to only acknowledge the good parts of someone you loved, to brag about what makes you proud and to simply ignore the contradictions and hypocrisy that were equally a part of who that person was. My grandmother was not a perfect woman, but when I think of her, I only remember the good, the parts that I want to relate to. It's human nature, I suppose, to ignore the controversial or unpopular, especially just after someone's death. But it is not necessarily the best way to honor their memory.

People are complicated. Even those who we look up to, men and women like Eleanor Roosevelt, Nelson Mandela or even your late grandmother are not perfect. Can we really understand and respect Nelson Mandela's life without acknowledging his advocacy for violence early in his career? By ignoring Eleanor's Roosevelt opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment, are we also ignoring the complexities of her character? Is Pete Seeger's life and advocacy overly simplified by ignoring the politics that inspired him? If I only focus on the things I admired about my grandmother, am I discrediting who she really was? Everyone has their complexities, and it is important to acknowledge them while understanding someone's imperfections does not make them any less of a person you admire.

I believe that people are afraid of acknowledging these short-comings, these flaws, especially following the death of a beloved figure. It can be easier to simplify people after they die, to hold them up on a pedestal, but that is doing them a disservice. To fully understand those we love and admire after they die, we have to appreciate the full picture, not just the pieces that appeal to us most. After all, it is better to love a real person than a fantasy.