11.14.08
Lest We Forget
On November 11, we bundled the girls up in their winter jackets and mittens and toques. Steve put on his dress uniform, I layered shirt, sweater, jacket, brought mittens and a hat. Piled warm socks under warm shoes, with thoughts of hot chocolates to be drank later that day. We drove over to the cenotaph, stood in the cold. There were bugles and bagpipes and a boy who spoke about sacrifice while everyone remembered watching him carry his best friend's coffin home from Afghanistan eighteen months ago. And there were tears.
Afterwards, I left the girls with my parents and went to the Legion with Steve. We were with our friends, one of whom got home from Afghanistan last week. Steve's old infantry buddies were there in their kilts and war stories came out. There were medals worn on chests, laughs about friends. And for the first time through all of this, I felt nostalgic for Steve to leave the military.
I looked at one man's chest, decorated with four or five medals, one for each tour he did, each medal representing at least six months away from his family, his friends. They wear them proudly. Steve told them he was getting out, this was his last Remberance Day in uniform and they didn't believe him. And as the group of them sat comfortably around the table, I recognized that there is a deep bond between these people, a companionship that doesn't exist in other work places. From now on Christmas parties will be small talk and a couple glasses of wine, not rum, swear words and war stories. There is a bond that grows when you suffer together, a bond that pain creates that is not easily broken.
And I watched the Veterans, thought about how we promise to never forget, every single year, and yet here we are still, suffering the loss of men and women in a foreign country. How the effect of war and death and loss still resonates loudly in the world on a daily, no, on an hourly basis. So have we forgotten or did we just not learn our lesson?
As Steve's decision to leave the military evolved, one of the concerns he had was about the validity of his work. And it's a sentiment that rang through what our friend said. When he was in Afghanistan, he was building roads into communities. At home, he works bad shift hours in order to plow the air strip. Is it possible to come home and not flounder slightly?
It was on Remberance Day that I realized that this is more than just another move, this was more than just Steve's decision. I told him years ago that I would support him and follow him as long as he was in the military, but we both knew what I really wanted. And though he is truly ready to move on and have a different career, I realized how much he's giving up for us. For the girls, but for me, too. What a big change this is. It's more than not having to leave the girls to go overseas. It's about more than a pay check, more than a good pension or health benefits. Wearing that uniform represents a heavy responsibility, to serve without question, to risk your life, to ask your family to sacrifice. It represents more pride than we truly understand.
And so I wear red on Fridays, I have a yellow ribbon on my car, and no that won't change once we're not a military family anymore, once we've left the CF behind. For all that Steve has learned of himself, for all that families and individuals across the country have given, and continue to give. Because one day, there won't be Canadian troops on Afghanistan anymore. But they will go somewhere else, and they will go without questions, into danger.
wunderwuman at 9:53 a.m.