Two Minutes

Today is Remembrance Day in Canada, a day to remember and honor the men and women who serve this country and who protect it regardless of the risk involved. It's a day that some people take to heart, and to others is just a day off of work (if they're even that lucky). To me it's a day that I always seem to end up in tears. Tears of pride? Tears of sorrow? I can't quite seem to pinpoint the exact cause, but as soon as I hear those notes of the Last Post I can feel them well up.

My family always lived near military bases while I was growing up, but we didn't really have any actual affiliation with the military. My grandfather was once in the navy but died when I was rather young and I don't recall him telling us any stories of what it was like. My knowledge of the military and military life mostly came from the fact that many of my friends had one or more parents who were actively serving. I remember hearing about them coming and going on missions but never really grasped exactly what risks they were taking. As I grew older, all three of my boyfriends in my high-school years had fathers in the military. It was sometime during this stretch that I really started to grasp the level of sacrifice that they were making. These fathers would sometimes get to spend only small amounts of time at home, sometimes would even have to leave without really being able to give the full details on where they were deployed to. I wondered where the wives got their strength, kissing their husbands goodbye and continuing with their lives like "normal", while I am sure they were constantly waiting for that next phonecall or communication to tell them that their husband was safe.

One other thing I started to see was how these men were looked up to. Of those three boyfriends I had, two of them went on to join the military themselves. Both have served time in Afghanistan, and one was even awarded the Medal of Military Valour (the third-highest award for valour in Canada). It is through my continued friendship with these men that I have come to understand the actual sacrifice that they make. Sacrifice goes so much further than whether or not they lose their life while serving our country. It is the hours and days that they spend apart from their loved ones. The missed birthdays and anniversaries, missed first steps and words, missed band concerts and sporting events. Sacrifice is knowing that while you're away your family grows up without you and that when you return you may have grown in different directions. Sacrifice is that you may never sleep peacefully again, never be able to concentrate properly on mundane tasks, might never be able to feel "normal" again. Sacrifice is doing and risking all of this to not necessarily even be protecting your own country, but the people of a different country who are less fortunate.

As much as we as a country like to pretend that we honor these soldiers and the sacrifices they make, the truth is that I am left wondering how much we truly do. Emotional and physical scars remain far after the soldier has returned home. Treatment of PTSD is often hard to obtain. Many soldiers still suffer in silence, turning instead to drugs and alcohol.  The father of a friend recently had to fight for the funding of his treatment of cancer that he developed as a direct result of his service in the military. We hold ONE DAY of services a year to honor these people, and still often there are people that aren't willing to even spend that small amount of time to pay their respects. How many people don't take part in the ceremonies because it's cold, or it's long and "boring", or because they'd just rather sleep in. How many of us take for granted how comfortable and unrestricted our lives are, because these soldiers are willing to fight to protect our freedoms for us?

We are so lucky to live in a country where we are free. We have the right to vote for a government that won't be filled with tyranny. We have the right to say what we think, go where we want to go, do what we want to do. With very few exceptions, we are safe to walk our streets without the fear of being beaten. We live in a country where we strive for equality and acceptance regardless of religion, race, or sexuality. We have all of this and yet because we have it every day, and have likely known nothing else, we take it for granted. Will it take us losing these freedoms to realize just how important they are?

I watched the ceremonies on TV this year, the whole time feeling guilty that I didn't actually take the time to get up early, bundle up and go to the outdoor ceremony this year. When I heard that trumpet play the last post my eyes once again welled up. In those two minutes of silence my head was filled with thanks for the people that every day do the things that I am far too cowardly to do myself. I hope that all of you reading took time to do the same. If you didn't, I encourage you to do it now. All I am asking are for those two minutes, but perhaps you can do more. Maybe two hours? Two days? Maybe, just maybe, you can be thankful for them every day. Maybe every day should be one where we stop and remember.