At one time or another, most of us have found ourselves at an event thinking, “Oh, I wish Mom were here for this,” or, “Mom would have loved to see you get married.” Sometimes, it’s something as simple as, “It’s too bad Mom didn’t see her roses bloom this year.” Conversely, we might think, “I’m really glad Dad isn’t here to see what’s happened in his city,” or, “Dad would be so upset at this turn of events.”
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It’s natural to find ourselves reflecting on what our departed loved ones might have thought about a situation—whether we see it as joyful or disappointing. But there’s something important I’d like us all to consider: when we imagine their reactions, we’re looking back at an image that has been frozen in time. The greater the distance between their passing and the event in question, the more likely it is that our perceptions aren’t entirely accurate because we’re remembering them as they were at the time of their death—not as who they might have become.
For example, I remember my father as he was in 2012, my mother as she was in 2014. Since then, years have gone by. Of course, I’m not saying they would have become completely different people or that their values would have drastically changed. Still, I also can’t predict exactly how those missing years—the experiences and shifts in the world—would have influenced them. Take a moment to reflect on how much you have changed since your loved one’s passing, especially if it’s been many years.
So much in the world has changed. We’ve lived through a pandemic that has reshaped our collective habits and culture. During those lockdown months, I often caught myself thinking, “Mom would have hated this,” knowing how extroverted she was and how she loved to travel and take road trips with Dad. Part of me even wondered if they would have followed lockdown rules or whether they would have decided to venture out anyway. The truth is, I simply can’t know, because by then they had been gone for several years.
The Thana Sutta (AN 4.192) teaches us traits, or how we come to know and understand the traits of the people around us. The specific characteristics mentioned are purity, virtue, endurance, and discernment. I knew my mother to be a strong-willed woman. The woman I knew had endurance. But how could I have translated what I knew up until 2014 to how she would behave in 2020, or 2025, or at any time after her death?
The purpose of the Thana Sutta is not to help us understand those who are gone, but rather those who are living. As for my mother’s endurance:
It’s through adversity that a person’s endurance may be known, and then only after a long period, not a short period; by one who is attentive, not by one who is inattentive; by one who is discerning, not by one who is not discerning. (AN 4.192)
The passages on understanding someone’s purity, virtue, and discernment follow a similar structure. For example, to understand someone’s discernment, you need to engage in discussion with that person for a long period, not a short period.
I can only attest to my mother’s endurance based on my observations and experiences with her while she was alive. Yes, that was for a long period. Importantly, that period ended when she died. Let’s pretend that I was and still can be discerning. I can no longer be attentive to who she is because she’s not here; she’s dead. I am only capable of reconstructing her potential thoughts, opinions, and behaviors based on who she was.
So when we say things like, “He would have loved this,” or, “She would have hated that,” or even, “I’m so glad he didn’t live to see this,” what we’re expressing is our memory of a particular person at a certain moment in time—a version of them forever suspended in that moment. We can’t truly know what experiences might have shaped them had they lived longer or how they may have adapted to changing circumstances.
But let me be clear: I’m not suggesting it’s wrong to reflect on how someone we love might have responded to a situation, whether aloud or in thought. This is our way of keeping their spirit alive, of including them in our lives even after they’re gone. When we share these musings with friends and family, it’s often about bringing our loved ones along with us, weaving their memory into our ongoing story.
If we can carry them with us in this way, without clinging too tightly or becoming attached to a rigid idea of who they were, it can be a beautiful tribute. But we must also remember that claiming to know with certainty what someone who died years ago would think, feel, or do in a present situation is, in a sense, unfair. It constructs a kind of imagined persona that may not reflect who they would have become. So as we include our deceased loved ones in the narrative of our current lives, let’s do so thoughtfully, honoring their memory and the role they played in our lives, while recognizing that the person we remember is, in essence, a beloved snapshot, not the full and ever-changing story.
May you be well and happy, at ease, and free from suffering.
Margaret Meloni
