Yesterday was difficult for me. Remembrance Day usually is. I have always felt immense pride and gratitude for the service of our military, and Remembrance Day is an amazing way to stop and reflect on the sacrifices that have been made and are daily made.
Wednesday evening, Hubby got out his black kit and rag. We sat in the kitchen, him on the stool with a shoe in one hand and a soft rag in the other, I sat on a kitchen chair, and we talked as the reflection in the black began to shine. The motions of the rag rubbing and polishing and the smell of the polish itself is so familiar. Talking about the household, the kids, the outcome of the election we witnessed to the south of us, plans for the week and the school services the next day.
I can remember in snippets and images seeing my father do the same when he was in the service. Seeing the blackened soft rag amongst his shoes in the closet when my sisters and I would go through and try mom's shoes on (didn't last too many years for me as my feet are nearly twice her size now). I recall wanting to wear his hat too, and smile every time our crazy crew gets Daddy's hat from him to carry into the house and they wear it and grin.
Last week when we went to visit family I learned some really neat and interesting things as my parents and I went through tons of old pictures. I knew some of the history about when my grandfathers served in the second world war. I knew that my mom's dad was Canadian and fought with the Allies. I knew that my dad's father was in Latvia and fought over there. How it was originally explained to me, eons ago, was that they fought for whichever side served their country's interest. So I knew that the Russians and the Germans both occupied that country and that some likely fought on both sides. My grandfather fought under German command. And did what he needed to do. My father said that his dad never spoke of what happened, didn't keep pictures of that time, and let it lay buried deep. You do what you have to do.
In a world where there is the talk of black and white, and "bad guys vs good guys" it's incredibly important to remember the grey. After getting back from the service yesterday I spoke with the kids about what they saw and heard, what they know, and what is important to remember. They have their father, who proudly wears a uniform. Many good friends who wear a uniform, and not only military. We've seen a lot of the red serge of the RCMP this week, including some very close friends. I reminded them that one of their grandfathers used to be a serving member. That all four of their great grandfathers were in the service during WW2, three for the Allies, one for the Reich. Then I had to answer questions from the four year old about why one of her great grandfathers was one of the "bad guys".
Lots and lots of feels. Watching some amazing advertisements that highlight the service and unlimited liability that comes with it. There's a Guinness commercial that brings out the all the emotions (here it is). Hubby showed it to my dad when we were there and they shared a moment.
As we started during our Halifax posting, Hubby and I went out with another service couple (RCMP) last night. Lots of fun, some serious conversation, some light hearted, very needed. Our server was an American, was in the Marines for four years and came up to Canada for school and her husband. Really neat to hear her experience and the mutual respect among uniformed members across borders.
On the edge of our table we had a drink for those who have fallen. In loving memory of the sacrifices made and are daily made, of every day putting that uniform on and feeling the weight of the past generations, the weight both supporting and guiding. We will remember them
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