Remembrance Day
REMEMBRANCE DAY
Today is Memorial Day; a day to remember. This is not just a day off from work or school; not just the official signification of the first day of Summer, or an occasion for a storewide bargain sale. It is a day to remember our heroes, past and present. What year it is now does not matter. What does matter is that at least one day out of every year has been officially set aside so that we all should remember those who have given so much; those who are still giving; those who have given, and the ones who yet will give a part or all of their lives. I, for one, choose to remember on more than just one day out of the year, and I know that there are those who remember every day the sacrifices of others and the sacrifices that they themselves have made. They all deserve to be remembered.
Though I have never experienced war first hand, I do have some understanding of what it is about, and what effect it can have on those who do and have experienced it. I learned from my father who served in the Second World War as an infantry Sergeant during the Battle of the Bulge. It was a brutal and terrifying period of his life and, for most of my life, I thought that he had chosen to forget his experiences because he refused to talk about them. I found out later that he had not forgotten, and the reason that he wouldn’t talk about it was that it was too painful for him to do so. Only in the latter years of his life did he begin to speak of what it was like. Even then he never spoke of combat experiences. He spoke mostly of the daily living conditions the foot soldier endured. The food, sanitation facilities and lack of sanitation; marching, drilling, digging fox holes, and, more importantly, the bonds forged with his fellow soldiers. He never spoke of battle except for two particular events, both involving close encounters with land mines. The first took away his commanding officer, the second took away a comrade and close friend, and left shrapnel in dad’s back and leg that remained there for the rest of his life. The blast also permanently damaged his hearing.
He survived to come home to raise a family and live to the age of eighty-nine; and though he left the war behind him, the war never left him. Every day for the rest of his life, like so many of his fellows, he suffered from his injuries. Some came back with worse injuries and some with no physical injuries at all. Each and every one of them, however, came back with emotional scars that would remain for all their days. It is a price of combat that they who returned had to pay and many consider it a dearer price than those who paid with their lives. Only they have the right to make that judgment.
How much my dad’s combat experiences stayed with him I would not realize fully until the day he died. It was Cancer that took him in the end and on his deathbed his delirium took him back to Belgium in 1944. It hit home to me then what he had carried back with him and I understood how strong he had been to be able to carry on with his life. It takes something special to be a soldier and he had that special quality. Whether he had it in him always or if it had been trained into him does not matter. What does matter is that he did what soldiers do and survived. He always displayed the flag on this day of remembrance because he never forgot those who did not come home as well as those who did, like himself, and left a part of themselves behind.
Soldiers of yesterday and soldiers of today, all are heroes and deserve our respect, our gratitude, and, above all, our remembrance. In honor of my father, my flag is out every day because I will never forget him as a wonderful father, a good soldier, and my hero.
Today is Memorial Day; a day to remember. This is not just a day off from work or school; not just the official signification of the first day of Summer, or an occasion for a storewide bargain sale. It is a day to remember our heroes, past and present. What year it is now does not matter. What does matter is that at least one day out of every year has been officially set aside so that we all should remember those who have given so much; those who are still giving; those who have given, and the ones who yet will give a part or all of their lives. I, for one, choose to remember on more than just one day out of the year, and I know that there are those who remember every day the sacrifices of others and the sacrifices that they themselves have made. They all deserve to be remembered.
Though I have never experienced war first hand, I do have some understanding of what it is about, and what effect it can have on those who do and have experienced it. I learned from my father who served in the Second World War as an infantry Sergeant during the Battle of the Bulge. It was a brutal and terrifying period of his life and, for most of my life, I thought that he had chosen to forget his experiences because he refused to talk about them. I found out later that he had not forgotten, and the reason that he wouldn’t talk about it was that it was too painful for him to do so. Only in the latter years of his life did he begin to speak of what it was like. Even then he never spoke of combat experiences. He spoke mostly of the daily living conditions the foot soldier endured. The food, sanitation facilities and lack of sanitation; marching, drilling, digging fox holes, and, more importantly, the bonds forged with his fellow soldiers. He never spoke of battle except for two particular events, both involving close encounters with land mines. The first took away his commanding officer, the second took away a comrade and close friend, and left shrapnel in dad’s back and leg that remained there for the rest of his life. The blast also permanently damaged his hearing.
He survived to come home to raise a family and live to the age of eighty-nine; and though he left the war behind him, the war never left him. Every day for the rest of his life, like so many of his fellows, he suffered from his injuries. Some came back with worse injuries and some with no physical injuries at all. Each and every one of them, however, came back with emotional scars that would remain for all their days. It is a price of combat that they who returned had to pay and many consider it a dearer price than those who paid with their lives. Only they have the right to make that judgment.
How much my dad’s combat experiences stayed with him I would not realize fully until the day he died. It was Cancer that took him in the end and on his deathbed his delirium took him back to Belgium in 1944. It hit home to me then what he had carried back with him and I understood how strong he had been to be able to carry on with his life. It takes something special to be a soldier and he had that special quality. Whether he had it in him always or if it had been trained into him does not matter. What does matter is that he did what soldiers do and survived. He always displayed the flag on this day of remembrance because he never forgot those who did not come home as well as those who did, like himself, and left a part of themselves behind.
Soldiers of yesterday and soldiers of today, all are heroes and deserve our respect, our gratitude, and, above all, our remembrance. In honor of my father, my flag is out every day because I will never forget him as a wonderful father, a good soldier, and my hero.
posted by Bob Parker | 12:41 PM
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