Every year, the last Monday in May brings the hum of lawnmowers, the smell of grilled food, and the first inklings of summer. For many, Memorial Day is a chance to gather with family, enjoy a day off work, or take a short trip.

I understand that. I enjoy those things too. But for me, Memorial Day has come to mean something more, something quieter, and something harder to name. That has everything to do with my grandfather, Robert L. “Bob” Conroy.

My maternal grandfather, “Papa,” served as a medic in World War II. He was stationed in Okinawa, one of the most brutal and prolonged battles of the war.