Field Of Poppies, Pompeii, Italy
If you have loved ones serving right now or you’re very sensitive, please do not read this post. This makes me cry so…
My first experience with the horrors of war was as a young girl. My Great Uncle Frank served in the war. He never talked about that time. Ever. Whenever someone mentioned the battles, this peaceful, hard working farmer would always change the subject. We knew it was a traumatic time for him but we didn’t know how life-changing it was until he got older.
My Great Uncle Frank was diagnosed with Dementia. He relived a certain time of his life over and over. Unfortunately, this time was during the war. He was in the trenches, fighting the enemy.
I will never forget visiting him as a young girl. He was in the front yard, rolling and ducking and using everything he could get his hands on as a weapon (my Great Aunt had locked up the guns and knives).
This was my big, strong Great Uncle, a man as dependable and sturdy as the maple tree in his yard yet I have never seen someone look so terrified, so emotionally intense, so frantic. I saw in his face when buddies died, when he killed another being, when he thought he wouldn’t make it home alive. The experience shook me to the core.
He was that scared yet he went overseas and fought to protect us, to protect our beliefs, our culture, our future. That’s my definition of a hero and these are the heroes we honor today.
