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WILKES-BARRE &mdash; Every July since 2014 I think about the &ldquo;what ifs&rdquo; in my life.
				On that particular July afternoon, the &ldquo;what ifs&rdquo; hit me hard.
				That was when I was leaving work and walking to my car and found a graduation photo of a girl named Kennedy stuck to my driver&rsquo;s side window.
				I didn&rsquo;t know the girl in the photo, so I dismissed it and tossed it on my passenger&rsquo;s seat and drove home.
				That&rsquo;s when those &ldquo;what-ifs&rdquo; hit me.
				What if &ldquo;Kennedy&rdquo; was my long lost daughter or granddaughter?
				What if she was reaching out to me?
				What if she wanted to meet me?
				What if, what if, what if?
				What if she&rsquo;s getting married and wants me to walk her down the aisle?
				The experience left me shaking as I drove home.
				But yet it gave me a brief glimmer of hope, quickly doused, but it was fun to suddenly think about things &mdash; birthdays, graduations, proms, ballgames, weddings &mdash; that never occurred with my non-existent daughter.
				And I thought a lot about the perpetuation of family after I&rsquo;m gone.
				I have come to accept the fact that I won&rsquo;t ever have the honor of walking my daughter down the aisle on her wedding day.
				Once again, that was a tough first sentence to write, trust me on that.
				Not having children is the one failure in my life I will carry to my grave.
				Because I had two great parents, I think I would have been a good father. I would have always been there for my son or daughter and I would have enjoyed every step of the way as they grew from infants to toddlers to baseball players to ballerinas to scholars to spouses to parents themselves.
				I would be as proud as I possibly could be.
				I was the proud papa of a 19-and-a-half-year-old cat named Lily and I was the adopted father of a wonderful little dog named Becky. They both counted very much in my life, having given me memories and good times.
				But neither Lily nor Becky would, nor could, ever have provided me with the joy of a daughter or son.
				As wonderful as all those memories of Lily and Becky are, they don&rsquo;t fill the void of not having my own child. But I&rsquo;ve learned to live with it and to accept it.
				Like Kennedy did six years ago, those memories of things I never learned remain &mdash; memories of things I never had or knew.
				Too often, we don&rsquo;t value what we have &mdash; we don&rsquo;t realize or appreciate all that life brings us.
				I even manage to value memories I didn&rsquo;t make and I treasure the experiences I could have had.
				I see the happiness that children and grandchildren have brought to the lives of my friends. I enjoy seeing them interact with their kids and grandkids.
				And, yes, I am jealous, but in a good way. I would love to have been able to walk in their shoes.
				Sometimes living vicariously through others can be a good thing. I can witness the joy of being a parent or grandparent and realize how blessed they all are.
				Sometimes, we need to be reminded of all that is good. Especially during this coronavirus pandemic.
				So, for me, it&rsquo;s good to think of what could have been.
				A graduation photo stuck on my car did that for me in 2014.
				Memories of things I&rsquo;ve never known really can be good.

Beyond the Byline: Memories of things unknown