"Without remembrance, there is repeating." ANON
Remembering is an act. It is faith that what happened long ago was not in vain. It is the acknowledgement of sacrifice and selflessness that war brought. It is knowing that young faces, often naive men, signed up to serve without the slightest idea of what is will cost them and their families. It is also knowing others stayed behind, in their country, not because they did not want to fight, but rather because they had jobs and commodities that deemed important for the war efforts to take place. It is for young women who darned socks, built care packages, tended to the sick, and typed letters of condolences when young soldiers lost their lives. It is remembering that hate ruled, guns spoke out instead of words, and violence was commonality. It is homes of fox-holes, of utter trust that went into the hearts of men, and killing before they, themselves were killed.
Seeing the elderly veterans today made me realize they were once these soldiers. They were not always the seniors that sit in the Legion, that drive scooters, that walk slow and interrupt my busy lives with their tardiness. They are not the inconvenience that look for exact change in the grocery line up, nor were they always the octogenarian that tells me that my girls need hats on their heads in the slightest cold. They were once young, visiting the dance halls, sneaking a kiss and a feel up in the car ride home. They were like me. They were raising babies, eking out a living, fighting with spouses......or worse yet, going it alone as their partner lost their lives. They have layers of pain, memories, tragedy, and sorrow. They may be old and cantankerous, buy they earned it. They have seen more than I ever will.
Seeing the elderly veterans today made me realize they were once these soldiers. They were not always the seniors that sit in the Legion, that drive scooters, that walk slow and interrupt my busy lives with their tardiness. They are not the inconvenience that look for exact change in the grocery line up, nor were they always the octogenarian that tells me that my girls need hats on their heads in the slightest cold. They were once young, visiting the dance halls, sneaking a kiss and a feel up in the car ride home. They were like me. They were raising babies, eking out a living, fighting with spouses......or worse yet, going it alone as their partner lost their lives. They have layers of pain, memories, tragedy, and sorrow. They may be old and cantankerous, buy they earned it. They have seen more than I ever will.
I thought about what it would be like to live through a war. To have entire towns say goodbye to the young soldiers, and then celebrate those that returned with a parade. To see strangers come up your drive and ring your doorbell only to deliver the worst news known to mankind. To have a funeral for someone that only has a memory, not a body. Or the opposite. To have your heart burst with pride and joy knowing the end has come on the 11th hour of the 11th month on the 11th day. To once again embrace those that left so long ago.
I took time to remember today. I urge you to as well my friends. Lets all be thankful for the strangers that sacrificed so much.
I took time to remember today. I urge you to as well my friends. Lets all be thankful for the strangers that sacrificed so much.
4 comments:
very well put.
I look after those seniors. I feel honored to do so.
you should change careers, instead of looking after little ones you should write stories that will inspire them. you have a way with words that leaves the reader speachless. i am glad not to have gone through the war with our parents but am honoured to know our grandparents were there
here here.
What a beautiful blog entry...brought tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. HUGS
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