John is quite the common name, but there is not one thing wrong with that. It represents a part of me I never will have the chance to see. My grandfather, John, passed away over a year before I was born. To me, my name leaves me dreaming of what it could have been like with him around. From stories and reenactments, I can only imagine.

Grandpa John was entering only his fifth month of retirement when the unthinkable happened. One day before my older brother’s first birthday, my grandfather was struck with a massive heart attack. Never was he able to enjoy his retirement and watch his little grandchildren sprout up into strong young adults, things I hope to have the chance to do. In his honor, the next child my parents had was named after him. Luckily for me, I was that next child.

I’ve spent countless hours sitting, waiting, wishing he was still around to help guide me. But as I have grown, I’ve come to realize that he is around, and always will be. His spirit lives on through me, which I am grateful for. With certain little things I do, my mother will comment, “oh, that’s exactly how my father would have done that.”

Though he’s been gone for nearly 19 years now, he has been here in heart for 17. I’m honored to be named after a hard-working, wise, and caring man. The least I can do is wear my name with dignity and pride. Although I’ve never met him, I can only imagine.