Some Day No One Will March There At All

Today is Remembrance Day in Canada, or as children all over our country refer to it: Poppy Day.



Poppy Day because we Canadians on this national holiday of remembrance, solemnly pin red poppies to our lapels as a way of showing that we care.



Red.

The colour of poppies, our maple leaf, and the serge worn by our national police force.



The colour of blood.

Too many young men lost in too many wars.

Because we're a quiet culture, our sacrifices sometimes go unnoticed.

But as the mother of a son, every year on Poppy Day I take a moment to thank God my boy is home.

And then I take another moment to pray to God for all the men and women world wide, who are not.

I think of our Canadian troops in Afghanistan and the many lives that have been lost. I think of our allies, and of our friends to the south with so many family members still so far away, or gone now forever.

And the I think of our so called enemies, remembering that they, too, are the sons and daughters of parents waiting at home.

Poppy Day.

Named from the poem "In Flanders Fields" written by Canadian solider John McCrae in 1915 that spoke to our national identity in a way nothing had before and nothing has since.

For me, to truly honour Remembrance Day, is to build bridges of peace and friendship between individuals and countries.

Perhaps in some small way, by sharing a part of this important piece of what it means to be Canadian, I might connect with others.

At least that's what I hope...

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,



That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.



We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.



Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

This evening, I am grateful that my boy is sleeping soundly in his own bed, and I am filled with compassion for all the mothers and fathers, wives, husbands, children, grandparents and partners past and present, who do not share that same luxury.

The following song is one I listen to every year on Remembrance Day because it is, for me, the most honest depiction of the sacrifices made by generations of young men and women who gave their all when they really just should have been dancing.

I hope my regular readers will take the time to sit back and listen to this particular version because it would really mean a lot to me.

In 2009, more than ever, may God Bless us All.

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