Lest We Forget

Remembrance Day has always had a special place in my heart. Both of my grandfathers fought in World War II, both were injured and both were decorated war heroes. Although I never met my father's dad, my mother's dad used to sit us down and tell us stories about the war. When he died, they played Taps at his funeral. I was 9 years old when my own personal war hero passed away and, ever since then, I have only missed one moment of silence on 11:11 am on 11/11. I miss him.
  
When I was in France when I was 16, we went up to Normandy and went to the Canadian War Cementery. I spent the full hour wandering through the graves, crying. My father had told me the previous evening that my great uncle fought in Normandy and used to tell stories of holding his comrades as they died. I looked for their graves but there were far too many to look. Many of the tombstones indicated that the soldiers were under 20 years old. I can't imagine living in a world where war is such an integral part of my adolescence and I hope that in my lifetime, it will cease to be a reality for others.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

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.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.



We remember and we shall never forget.
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