What's in a Name?

Why is it when someone dies, their written word, their handmade drawings, their ideas, and anything else they may have left behind becomes that much more important to us? Is it because we want to hold on to their past? Or is it because we recognize the uniqueness of each person's creative footprints? Should we feel ashamed we didn't cherish these gifts when they were still alive? Or are we just giving posthumous meaning to a person's life after they have long left the earth?

As humans, maybe we aren't happy with just being left with genetic leftovers. Maybe we are compelled further to give meaning to our existence. I guess this is what separates us from animals. We are cursed with vivid memories, and need a lot more than family traits to fill the void that is left behind after the passing of a loved one. Then would ignorance really be bliss? Would we be better off with a meaningless existence? Or is our current existence also meaningless and have we just found ways to give meaning to nothing?

Just as our forefathers left us with inscriptions and tablets, in order to know more about them and hence carry on their names and knowledge. Was it just for naught? Yes, we gained from their experiences, but who do we ultimately pass on their names to along with ours, and why? If the human civilization was to exist for another 1000 years or 5000 years, who would care who Ramses the Third was? And if they did care, why? Posthumous infamy? It's meaningless.

Or is it?