Lest We Forget

November 11th. Remembrance Day. It's a national holiday in Canada. Banks and government offices are closed. Schools remain open however, and in every Canadian classroom this morning, from Atlantic to Pacific to the Arctic Ocean, ceremonies were held to pay homage to the Canadian soldiers who have died in defence of our freedom in two world wars. In every city and town across the country, ceremonies were held and wreathes were laid at war memorials and in church graveyards and at cenotaphs.

Cenotaph. Dictionary.com defines it as a monument built to honour soldiers who died in a war

The word comes to us from two Greek words. It means literally, "empty grave." It's a marker to commemorate soldiers who have died and are buried elsewhere.

Every year at this time, I visit the cenotaph here in Mimico. At precisely 11:11 a.m., the nation stops and observes one minute of silence to honour the sacrifices made by so many young men. My thoughts invariably turn to my father. He bid good-bye to his mother in 1940 and boarded a train with a thousand other uniformed boys to travel twelve hundred miles to Halifax and there, to board a great ship which would carry them off to war. It was six years before he saw his mother again. That, in itself is painful enough.

I am crying, Ms Journal as I write this. I can't see the bloody keyboard!

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Such an emotional day for me. It's been that way ever since I was a boy in school. We'd sing "God Save The Queen" then we'd sing "Oh Canada." We'd observe a minute of silence, the end of which was marked by "The Last Post" and "Reveille".

I'd like to share with you a page from an old journal. My 2002 journal.

November 11, 2002.

Today is Remembrance Day. I had breakfast at The Canadiana first, then I went to the cenotaph at Queens Ave. and Lakeshore Blvd. The little park there is called Vimy Ridge Park. Wreathes from the Royal Canadian Legion, and the governments of Canada, Ontario and Toronto had been laid yesterday at the base of the cenotaph. There were also wreathes from a few local businesses.

I arrived at 11:00 to find about twenty-five people there. All stood in silence. Some bowed their heads. Others had their eyes fixed on the tall concrete memorial, their thoughts on the brave young men who had died in war. Two bronze plaques list the names of all the sons and brothers of the town of Mimico who had died in the name of freedom.

The few elderly men and women there seemed most solemn of all. Perhaps they were the only ones among us who really understood, who had really lived through the misery and pain that is war. There was a mum with two little girls. Twins. I supposed them to be no more than three years old. Taking their cues from their mum, they too were serious. Somber. But they could not possibly have understood what was going on, or why. Nor could their mother. Nor can I truly and fully appreciate the sacrifices that were made. But I know I must try.

And so we stood, quietly united in our reverence and respect for thousands of fallen soldiers who died so long ago in wars to which we can scarcely relate. Thousands upon thousands. The battle for Passchendaele, Belgium in 1917 cost sixteen thousand Canadian lives. That was but one battle, in one war from one army. The cost in human lives and suffering is unfathomable.

I remember the musty smell of the fallen leaves in the park and the soil still wet from last night's thunderstorm. The sky remained overcast. This was not a day for clear skies and sunshine. Clouds and cool breezes seemed entirely appropriate today. I thought of Dad's book and how he had gone to war a boy and returned a man. I felt very proud of my dad then. Proud to be his son. I wiped my eyes and felt not the slightest trace of shame for my tears.

I prayed for something to mark the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour but there was nothing. No church bells. No clarion of military bugle. Nothing. Traffic continued as always. Life goes on, doesn't it? Freedom goes on. And we'll seldom give it another thought until this time next year.

I will never fail to take a minute to remember and to thank those men who gave their lives for us. They gave their today for our tomorrow.

Somehow, thank you seems absurdly inadequate.

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.

from "In Flanders Fields" by Col. John McCrae

I wish you peace, Ms Journal. Peace on earth. And goodwill toward men.