Remembrance Day... Lest We Forget

November 11.  The 11 minute, of the 11 hour, of the 11 day, of the 11 month.  

For those who do not know, this is Remembrance Day.  At this time, on this day, the fallen are remembered.  A moment of silence across Canada for those who fought, for those who died, for those who were, and are, loved.  Strangers and friends alike remember.

For my family Remembrance Day has been very closely honored.  My family has several military ties, and from these we were taught respect and honor for this day, and all it represents.  I have chosen to share a few.

My Great Uncle Erving was physically dragged from their home in a small town of Southern Germany during WW2.  He was 19 years old, and that night he became a soldier in the Nazi Army regardless of his own choices.  Erving was never heard from again.  The family has no idea what became of this youngest member of the family.  We believe he is in a mass grave somewhere in Russia.  But it is all speculation, as not even his dog tags were found.  Every night for the rest of her life, my Great Grandmother would sit by the window, with a lamp burning.  She would stare up the street all night and pray that her youngest son would come home.  He never did.

I first hear this story as a child.  There was a picture on my grandparents mantle.  I was looking at it, and asked my mother when my father was in the army.  She told me that it was not my father, but my grandfather’s little brother.  She told me his story.  The resemblance to my father is uncanny.  They could have been twins, not uncle and nephew.

My Great Uncle George was a prison guard in WW2.  He was a member of the Canadian Armed Forces and was stationed in the Caribbean.  There were many prisoners from several countries there.  Many of his friends were shipped over seas, and never returned.  He rarely spoke about the war, and when he did, it was always with great sadness.  He was a Vet, and was proud of his country and ability to serve.  You could tell he never forgot, even though he rarely spoke of this horrid time in the world.

He died a bachelor when I was around 16yrs.  He lived and farmed alone.  We would visit often, and sometimes he would show us some of the things he brought back from the war.  Medals, grenades (duds mind you) and other historical things from that time.  He was proud, but also very sad.

A neighbour of my parents, Jake, is still living.  He was also a Canadian soldier, and he served in WW2.  He also rarely speaks of that time.  He was an infantry man.  I know very little of his time over there, but he always is very proud when he sees soldiers in full uniform.  I have known him to get choked up on occasion during Remembrance Day ceremonies.  It is his past and a huge part of his life.  How does one survive something like war, and not be emotionally moved?  Neither he nor I have that answer.

My best friends Great Uncle was a first hand witness to D Day.  He ran a shore, literally with his friends dying on all sides of him.  He never spoke of his time over seas to my knowledge.  I can hardly blame him.

My cousin James is a soldier.  He has a wife and a baby girl.  He serves because it is something he believes in.  He is willing to make the sacrifices that many others have, should the time come.  For his daughter and wife’s sake, I hope it never comes to that.  I know what it is like to say good bye to someone for the last time.  My greatest hope is that no one else has to experience that again.

And there was Chris.  He was many things to many people, but always a friend.  Always willing to help.  Compassion, integrity, generosity, loyalty, humility.  These words are often used to describe people.   He was these words and he lived their meanings.  It was not an effort to be a good person.  He just did what he thought was right and committed himself to it with everything he was.  Hard as it is to believe, it will be 5 months on the 20th since he died.  I have never wanted to stop time so badly.  It just keeps passing, and it goes so fast.  Were I to be granted one wish, it would be to go back and save him.  To take his place if necessary.  He wouldn’t want that from anyone, but he would make the sacrifice for someone else.  Stranger or friend.  With all the respect and honor I knew, he has forever changed this day for me.  He has forever changed me, and I have learned many things from having him in my life.  For that I will always be grateful.

A Canadian Doctor wrote this poem in WW1.  It is rumored that he began writing it the night his friend was killed by a mortar shell.  Simple, elegant, and true.

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep,

though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

For all soldiers, for their families, and for the ones they protect, I write this.  I thank you, I honor you, and I remember.  

Lest We Forget.