It was a couple months ago when my friend’s grandpa died. It was a light breeze on my heart, barely affecting me. He’s not my grandpa, he was old and plus my friend didn't seem to care either. “I’m sorry man. I know it must be hard.” I said half believing it. His face was colorful and his eyes were bright, there is no way he could have felt that bad. Bright eyes meant youth, happiness and excitement. The kind of eyes of an innocent third grade me used to constantly hold. “No man, its fine he needed to go.” There was a lowering, almost uncomfortable silence.  “But gosh, I will miss him.” His eyes looked a little less bright, a little happiness escaped beneath his eyelids. Maybe he did miss him. The thought rung silently in my head.
Days passed like days do and I thought nothing of him. Why should I? I shouldn’t.
A week later the topic once again stared me in the face. Great... More conversations about a dead dude I didn't know. Why should I even care? I shouldnt.
“He was a good dad. Always laughing, smiling, always gracious.” He said with a slight smile on his face. It had to sneak up on him like a thief stealing away his grief.
“He did... lots of things.” He trailed off into another story. Stories of character, humour, stories of memory. Looking back, all of the stories meant so much more than they first appeared. Like a butterfly in a cocoon they hatched one by one.
Get on with it... I thought. I wanted to go home and do my homework. We finally left that dreary old house. It smelled like candles and looked like heaven but I was glad to be gone. A wave of relief swept over me at once the car door shut.
He was never brought up again. Not in conversation anyways.
But the death grew on me, the conversation centered around him planted a seed in my mind. One night while sitting in my bed a thought popped in my head: The things they remembered had nothing to do with anything we measure people by when they are alive. Then I expanded on it. My friends eyes were not bright because he wasn’t sad, he just knew his grandpa had a good life. Another thought popped in my head: His grandpa was a poor man. Who talked about his money or for that matter who talked about grades? Who cares about grades or money? You see what I learned is no one does really, so I won’t  spend my life trying to engrave capital letter and dollar signs into the diamond hearts and minds of others. Will a job and a clean report card ensure my post life praise? Should the time following my death be what I live for? No. I realized I should not be concerned with what I leave behind because if I live the way I want I will leave back the key to the most important lock on your life: Self-acceptance and self love. But aren't you already in a position to unlock it? With this I would gain the ultimate freedom from everyones opinion. I have yet to reach this precious state of mind. But right then I realized I was closer than ever before. Grasping at the thing I most yearn for. Because I knew who I was, I was who I wanted to be, and that person had nothing to do with anyone else. Or anything else for that matter.