When I’m out and about I often see roadside memorials. And if I have time, and if it’s safe, I pull over to read the name and date. When I get home I attempt to look them up, see what happened, learn more about the person.

Because every memorial is someone who was real and who is missed and who deserves a bit of recognition and attention.

I know for a fact that the families that erect these memorials want people to notice that something terrible happened right there. And they want their person or people to not be forgotten. Even if you never knew them.

I’ve done this for years, trying to find out more about the people who died on our roads, ever since my own dad was killed on a stretch of highway between the Alabama/Georgia state line and the Atlanta airport.

We didn’t build a memorial, but we did hastily plant some daffodil bulbs next to the busy freeway where he died. I’ve only been past the spot at the right time of year once, and the traffic was so bad I couldn’t look around for more than an instant, but I think I saw a flash of yellow years after the crash. It could have been the daffodils or it could have been a Wendy’s chili cup.

But I choose to believe it was dad saying hello and making me smile.