My mother’s father died of cancer three months before I was born. From his memory, I carry his first name as my middle: Orville.
For most of my life, this was all I had of his. Others had stories of him, photos, old reels of film. Through these means, I began over the years to better understand, perhaps not my grandfather as he was, but certainly as he was remembered. I began to see the meaning of my name but only within the memory of others.