My father was a soldier. I only know that because he never came home. He died in the line of duty when I was just a year old, too young to remember him, too old now to forget what his absence has shaped in me. Every year since, I’ve left flowers at his memorial. I’d stand there quietly, not really sure what to say. I think part of me hoped I'd feel him if I stood still enough. Some years, I brought wildflowers from the side of the road. Other years, I spent an hour picking the perfect bouquet. It never felt like enough. I didn’t know what his favorite color was or what kind of flowers he would have liked. But I brought them anyway. That was the only kind of conversation we had: me placing something beautiful on stone, hoping it said what I couldn’t. I asked his friends what he was like. One told me he drank Pepsi religiously. I pretended to like it for years. Someone mentioned that he liked spicy food, so I added hot pepper to my meals, which did not last long. Another said he was calm under pressure, so I tried to be that too. Measured, quiet, steady. I didn’t just want to know him. I wanted to resemble him. Even now, my first question to anyone in uniform is always the same: Did you know my dad? It doesn’t matter if they are Army, Navy, or Marines. I always ask. Most of the time, they don’t. But every now and then, someone pauses. Someone squints at my last name or says they were deployed around the same time. My heart starts racing, hoping they’ll say something. Anything that brings me closer to him. Sometimes people talk about their military parents, the stories they’ve heard, and the lessons they were taught. I go home and open the drawer where we keep his medals and pendants, and I look at them like proof he was real. Sometimes I wonder what he would think of me now. Would we have the same sense of humor? Would he have taught me how to drive or walked me to school on the first day? It’s strange to miss someone you don’t remember. Stranger, maybe, to feel shaped by them anyway. I’ve spent my whole life trying to get to know someone I never got the chance to meet. And no matter how many questions I ask, it never feels like enough. I never got a first memory of him. Just a flag, and a lot of questions no one could answer. His service gave others freedom. It left me with stories, medals, and a thousand things I’ll never get to ask. I’m proud of his service. But some days, I’d trade every medal just to have known him.