Although I never met my paternal great-grandfather, I’ve been told he and I are alike.

The biggest similarity is our inclination toward crafts that require a good hand and creative vision. He was a carpenter among other things. Just recently, my father remarked that in another reality he might have been a master engineer. But that wasn’t his fate. As a young man, my great-grandfather went off to fight in WWI, something that (understandably) went on to deeply affect him. All I know of him is through stories, memories pieced together to form an incomplete portrait of a talented yet forever-altered man.

This portrait became a little clearer when I visited Barbados this past summer. I got to see where he and my paternal family grew up. I also saw some of his handiwork firsthand–beautiful furniture, a wooden dining set you could pass off for something from a quality furniture store. Among these items was something else that brought stories about my great-grandfather to life: an artillery shell from WWI. Many times, my father has recalled having to polish the shells as a child and not realizing what they were until years later. I had always wondered what they looked like and if they were even around anymore. But the moment I saw the brass cylinder sitting on a shelf, I knew exactly what I was looking at. It’s engraved with my great-grandfather’s name and the year the war began. Even more prominent are the many scratches and imperfections scattered across the shell. I’ve come to view it as a metaphor for a global crisis that forever changed the world and so many lives with it.