I Found My Photo On A Missing Child Report, And I Don’t Know What To Do
Plastered on the milk carton was a picture of what I recognized as me at an age so young my internal memory never ventured back there, probably about two years old, maybe three. The picture was tucked beneath the word MISSING and surrounded by information that was utterly foreign to me, including the name of…
By 
Jack Follman
Life went back to normal after that day. For years.
I stayed on the island, but moved from my parents’ house to a small cabin on the other side of the island shortly after my mom finally passed and kept a low profile. I worked remotely for a large company, so I didn’t even really go to town that much to do anything other than buy food and once daily to maintain my sacred routine.
You can still find me every morning cracking a beer in the graveyard while most people aren’t even halfway through their morning coffee. I’m not going to give up my promise to my dad.
However, there is something that happened this morning that is making me reconsider my tradition.
This morning I saw a fresh bouquet of flowers resting on my father’s gravestone. 
