Remembrance and remembering

I'm up in the wee hours, thoughts swirling, having just settled our feverish little daughter to sleep. She is the latest one hit by the H1N1 in our house, bless her wee heart. I had intended to bundle up the children and take them to the Cenotaph this morning for the Remembrance Day Ceremony here. I'm still not feeling well, but my cough and discomfort seem small in comparison to the agony suffered by so many of our soldiers in the First and Second World Wars. But now that our preschooler is sick and the rain is pouring outside I'm thinking we'll have to watch the Remembrance Day coverage on television today. Or one of us stay with our little sickie and the other take the boys to the Cenotaph.

But however the morning unfolds, we will remember.

My thoughts are with my grandfathers, who both served our country in the Second World War and survived against all odds. Our maternal Grandpa was a navigator aboard a Lancaster Bomber that was shot down over German-occupied France. He and another flight officer were hidden by an American actress living there, along with other Allied soldiers, for months. She had married a Frenchman and worked with the Resistance, saving my Grandpa's life. Our paternal Grandpa survived his naval ship being torpedoed twice and then lived through horrendous conditions in a Japanese prisoner of war camp. He returned to Canada with his 6 foot 5 inch frame much emaciated but somehow his gentle nature intact.

One of my favourite memories is of a time both grandfathers visited us where we lived on a tiny radar station in Northern Manitoba. The two Grandpas were wonderful storytellers, and never more so than after a visit one Friday night with our military father to the Officers Mess. The three of them returned home, three sheets to the wind, the Grandpas glowing from having been properly toasted as retired military men and war heros. It was grand. They were grand, always making us feel so loved.

Naturally this year, having lost our infant George at birth mere months ago, my thoughts are with my maternal Grandmother. She had lost her baby Dan and was expecting her rainbow baby, my father, during the war. I can't imagine her anxiety as she mothered her preschooler, my auntie, mourned her baby and had no idea whether the telegram informing her Grandpa was missing in action meant he was alive or dead.

I think of all the men and women who served, and of all the wives and mothers and sweethearts and families left to mourn.

World War One saw 628,736 Canadians serve and of those 66,573 died. An additional 175 merchant seamen died by enemy action.

Not long after 1,031,902 men and 49,963 women served Canada in the Second World War. Of those, 44,927 were killed and another 1,146 merchant seamen died by enemy action.

Korea, the second war in which my maternal grandfather saw combat, had 26,791 Canadians fighting, 516 of whom died.

The Gulf War had no Canadian casualties despite 3,837 men and 237 women serving. The last count I saw for Canadian casualties for Afghanistan was 133.

That's a lot of sorrow for our nation alone. Think of all the others lost from all the other countries, of all their loved ones. Of those still fighting and their families. I pray that our soldiers get to come home from the current conflict soon.

When I was a teenager I made the military men in my life unbelievably happy when I joined Air Cadets one year. They were thrilled to see me, my alternative girl, dyed-burgundy hair scraped back and my usually flamboyant eyeliner tamed considerably, in uniform and awarded Best First Year Cadet. I never admitted to them that this enrolment had more to do with a certain boy wearing combat boots than it did with military tradition. No matter.

So that rainy November 11th as a corporal in Air Cadets, I got to march with my Major Dad and my maternal grandfather in the Remembrance Day parade. It was cold and sombre, as it should be. Then after the ceremony the three of us joined the ranks of many at the Legion. Remembrance Day was also that Grandpa's birthday, which he loved as he always had the day off and the afternoon to spend with other war vets. That year I got to be one of the boys for the afternoon, listening to war stories and raising a glass to fallen men and women. Celebrating that Grandpa's special day with him and toasting my other Grandpa on the West Coast. It was lovely.

As corny as it sounds, I picture in my mind my grandfathers with our baby George today. I hope they share with him their stories of war, of why our world needs an end to conflict. May they have a wonderful post Remembrance Day party with all their buddies up there, with George at their side. My boy who will never see battle or hardship, who will never have to realize first-hand the extent to which seemingly ordinary people can be so inhumane.