Have you ever seen your name engraved on a tombstone? It’s almost an out-of-body experience. Death stares you in the face. Of course, the grave belongs to one of your family members, but the fact that your name is etched in stone is inescapably personal. You ask: When will it be my time? What happens between now and my end? Who am I? Why am I here? Who will I become?
I’ve had that experience multiple times at the grave of my grandfather and namesake, Sgt. Jacob Kamaras (U.S. Army Air Corps, 7/8/1942-11/30/1945). I stood and cried alongside my father, Philip, who lost Jacob on Oct. 6, 1964. Jacob died of a heart attack at the age of 56; Philip was 8, and his sister Deborah was 12.
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