alt Hacker NewsOne early vacation morning my wife and I took our kids to a playground to adjust their pre-museum energy levels. It was quiet and sunny with dew still on the grass. The kids ran carefree through the playground, making their own adventures while I settled on a nearby bench. I noticed the bench had one of those memorial plaques for a man named Everett:
The power of the memorial that morning had me daydreaming what it would be like to be a grandpa watching my grandkids running around the playground. That's where I want to be immortalized: not in a lonely cemetery but on a warm park bench, relaxing and enjoying the best things about life.
My youngest migrated his play to the swing set and called me over for help. I loaded him in and began pushing while thinking of old Everett, maybe pushing his own grandson, maybe in this very swing.
And then I noticed what was written just above him:
In a breath my mind corrected the error in my daydreams and a freight train punched through my gut, leaving me unable to breathe. My heart sunk and fell out the bottom of me as I struggled to keep pushing my son. I'd later learn that my son, in that moment, was older than Evvy would ever get to be. It's been years and I still wrestle with this memory every time my kids play on a swing set.