Why I Remember

Years ago I attended a Remembrance Day ceremony with my grandfather.  He, like the other Veterans, was dressed most distinguishable.  I had never seen him in uniform before.


I remember being startled by how quickly he seemed to be transformed.  The man who had so often picked me up from school and took pleasure in teaching me to play cards every time my mother got out of ear shot, had somehow slid into the shadows.  Overtaken by a life that taken place decades ago.


I couldn't take my eyes off of him throughout the ceremony.  He stood tall and regal.  Calm and still, but only on the outside.  I swear I could taste the sadness on that November day, which couldn't decide if it wanted to rain or just saturate the air with heaviness.


An inkling of just how terrible those war years must have been, caught me up like a blanket you get tangled in and struggle to get out of.  My heart knew that unspeakable things must have been witnessed.  I could never quite take the man out of the uniform from that day on.


So on November 11, I remember.