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Mysterious Kal

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Gone.





Except for the rare whispers













of the name.











Erased, from memory.





Barely thought of, the









existence buried beneath the









ground.






Dead, but alive through the








name of his granddaughter:





Samantha Kallie.



I was always confused about Kalman. I didn't know if I should call him “Grand-pa, or Pop,” or one of those random words that never seemed that significant. I never thought much about names, but now I realize that they define who you are as a person in this world. A name means more than just a word used to get your attention. It is this single group of letters that you will be remembered by long after your time; the word that your offspring will mention when you are not here.

My middle name is the sole remembrance of Kalman. I feel that it is my duty and that I am keeping a piece of him alive today. Even though I have never met him because he passed away before I was born, he is my grand-father. I owe him that much; after all, without him, I wouldn't be here today. His name is etched into me, a part of who I am.

He may not be above the ground and roaming this Earth, but as a family member he deserves to be commemorated once in a while. I strongly disagree with my mother and aunt for only saying his name and only recollecting him when they stumble upon an old photo album or discuss his participation in Philippines during World War II. He is just a trace in the back of their minds, occasionally resurfacing the brink of thought. How can such a loving and good man be washed away fro life and become a drowned memory on the ocean floor?





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