My great grandfather John Moran died in WWII. When he left, my grandfather was 2-years-old, too young to have any memories of his dad. There are things he used to say he remembered, but they more seem like stories he was told.

My grandpa passed away when I was pretty young, so my memories of him are mostly stories I was told too.

This leaves me with a great-grandfather known only through stories passed down from my grandfather to my dad to me. It makes the remembering part of Remembrance Day tough.

Here’s what I know: John Moran went to war in 1939 as a part of the 4th Queen's Own Hussars. I was told they called him “Mad Moran” because he once drove a tank into town to go to the pub. I’m not sure it’s that true, but I like to believe it for some reason.

He was shipped out to defend Crete where nothing much happened for a year until in 1941 the Germans came and quickly overran the island.

He was taken as a POW. He would’ve been my age.

A year later while in a POW camp, he got sick and died. He was buried somewhere in Berlin.

Remembrance Day has always felt strange not really having someone to remember, and instead, having the story from someone else who was told by someone else. It feels more like a game of telephone that’s been going on for almost 80 years.

I only have a few memories of my own grandpa, but sometimes I’ll do something and someone who knew him better will tell me I did it just like him. I wonder sometimes if anyone ever told him he did stuff like his dad, and if some of that stuff is the stuff I do too.

My great grandfather sacrificed his life to help make the world a better place. I feel guilty that I don’t know him if that makes any sense.

But sometimes I wonder if do stuff like my grandpa did, the way his father did. I wonder if I tell dumb jokes like my grandpa did like his father did.

I’m not sure it’s that true, but I like to believe it for some reason.