I sat down on the bench and pulled my cardigan tight against the cool evening breeze and read his name in the metal, and I let myself simply be there with him, in the quiet, for a little while.

Behind me, after a time, I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel path, and I turned to see my father and my daughter walking toward me through the golden light, each of them carrying a cold soda, both of them smiling in the last warm light of the day.

Grace ran ahead and slid onto the bench beside me and wrapped her arm around my waist, and my father lowered himself down on my other side and rested a warm, steady hand on my shoulder.

“Did you tell Dad about me?” Grace asked softly, looking down at the bronze plaque, at her father’s name.