Wearing a poppy with pride

I had been on my own for most of a month and had coped well with our anniversary, so I didn’t think Remembrance Day would be a big deal.

On the preceding Sunday, there was a short tribute during the morning worship service at church. The list of war involvements and service occupations were read and we stood for a minute of silence. It was then that it hit me — there I was, and my husband was on the other side of the world, in one of those locations! I fought back a few tears at the realization, then went on with my day.

The morning of Nov. 11th, I awoke early. It was a day off work, but I was having company for supper and my cook was in Afghanistan. So I had work to do!

First, I switched on the TV, where the first words were: “And here are a few pictures from the Remembrance Day service at Camp Julien this morning.”

My resolve melted and I burst into tears. How had I agreed to his going so far away when I really needed him here, now? For a few minutes, I revelled in self-pity and loneliness.

But such emotions cannot be companions if one is going to meet the challenge of a year of separation.

I turned off the TV, wiped away the tears, and got busy. The day passed quickly. Supper and the evening with my company went well. When bedtime came, I was tired and content.

When Remembrance Day approaches, we hear about the troops on the war front. Let’s also remember their families here at home, who are missing their loved one greatly on this day. They will be the brave folk who look rather lonely while proudly wearing a poppy.