As long as valor remains a virtue we shall have soldiers; and so I preach cowardice. Through cowardice shall we all be saved. ~ Americanization of Emily
No matter how many years I do this job, it will never feel right that it isn’t raining. There will always be a part of me that is that little girl in party shoes, sliding in the mud, clutching her mother’s hand, wondering what she’s doing there.
I no longer weep for those who have moved on. They are beyond us, one way or another, whatever you believe, they are past pain, past torment, at least of this world. In truth, I do not believe anyone weeps for the dead, in weeping for the dead we weep more for the living. For those left behind, for those still here, still fighting, for those who have stood to take the place of the fallen, who in turn will fall yet again.
The most terrible of vicious cycles.
They passed us the torch from hands that neither failed nor faltered, but have we, in our turn, not failed them?
That we sit on this day with heads bowed not merely in remembrance of tragedy long past, but of horror still so vividly present…that this observation has not yet become merely historical respect.
Failure is not the right word; it implies that I have something other than respect for those incredibly brave people who are in so much danger so far from home. That couldn’t be further from the truth. But, sitting in the show room this morning in dress blues, with a handmade poppy taped to my uniform breast because I forgot to pack a “proper” one, listening to the hotel director recite a faltering, choked version of Flander’s Fields, I ask the same question I do every year. The same question I have asked since I was a little girl standing in the mud in party shoes: Why.
Still, no one can ever tell me why.
If ye break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep
Do they sleep? Or have we perhaps dyed our faith so red with blood that none can sleep beneath its blanket.
And why do we still repeat to ourselves the old lie? Dulce est decorum est…
You would have been proud of the numbers at Victoria’s Cenotaph this year, CHEK TV said it was over 10,000. Five times recent years. Cold and clear, but it felt good to be a Canadian, and amongst so many others that were proud as well.