Twenty two years ago, this morning, 18 March 1987, I was awakened from
my sleep in my second floor bedroom, to the sound of my mom’s scream
from downstairs. She received a terrible, and sadly expected, phone
call. My Grandpa shot himself in the head that morning. I was only five
years old, so I don’t remember very many of the details, and of course
no one told me.

Royston Owen Miller, 18 September 1921 - 18 March 1987
Born, lived, and died in the same house
United States Army Veteran, World War Two
Prisoner of War in a German Concentration Camp
Husband, Father, Grandfather

My Grandpa was a good man, and even though I was too young to remember
much about him when he died, he is one of the most respected and loved
people in my life. I can’t help but wonder what life would be like if
he was still here, or if he would have lived even a few years longer,
or if he had passed under different circumstances.