Describe a memory that defines part of your identity.

My grandfather died when I was 13. He had Alzheimer’s disease, but he ultimately passed because of complications with pneumonia. I still think back to how he always had a five o’clock shadow and the roughest, stubbly facial hair. Like sandpaper. He always called me “my boy” because I carried his name as my middle name. I was the only grandkid who had the honor of doing so. I keep that memory close to heart because occasionally I have recurring dreams with him in it, or I will wake up some days and feel like he is with me, telling me today will be alright … I miss him very much and on days when I have to shave, I think about how that rough stubble face has translated to my own face after all these years. He’s forever inside me somehow.