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I've been in the same position as the letter-writer, only the deceased in question was my own father—a charmer and philanderer who specialized in intimidating (and feeling up) his five daughters while cleaning out the family bank account. During his lifetime, I had intimations that the rest of the world knew his faults but didn't care. "Your dad loves you so much," his friends would blather. How much and in what way, they really didn't want to hear.
I gave a eulogy at his funeral, to a packed church. I told funny stories with a tiny, slight edge of darkness that you'd have to listen hard to detect. But I let everybody know that he was my dad, and that's what I would miss.
One year later (the anniversary of his death was yesterday) I am amazed to report that the stories about what a great guy my dad was ceased the day of the funeral. No one ever mentioned it again. It was as if everybody was tired of keeping up the charade. I'll always wonder if my life would have been better if somebody—a man, since they're the only people my father listened to—had ever had the courage to challenge him about his misuse of power. If anyone ever did, it escaped the notice of my entire family. In this day and age, integrity is no longer the community's business. Some people who weep at funerals cry harder for this.
I want to add that I did attend a funeral during which a daughter spoke honestly about her troubles with her father. It backfired, making her look weak and spiteful. Perhaps everyone is shamed by bad behavior that goes unchallenged. But if everybody's done the best they could, give the man a sendoff that presidents would envy, then kick back and listen to the silence.
