It has been … some time since I’ve written on this day. It has been a while since I’ve put thoughts down, considered, and perhaps something more. Perhaps, once more, I’ll be able to …
Many a year, on this day in November, the winds are cold, the skies are cloudy. The world seems to reflect the sombreness in the mood of those that gather.
The past falls further and further into the shadows that tug at the edges of the memories of those who lived in those moments. The faces of those, so young, so long ago, are still etched in their thoughts.
The moments of friendship, adventure, and camaraderie were recalled with wistful smiles, a tear laying in the corners of now so-much-older eyes. Once fresh in innocence, they watch and remember their comrades from long ago, the trials faced together, the crash of thunder, shaking of earth, the silence that followed.
Time forever moves onwards, the past more distant with each passing moment. For some, a name etched on stone or bronze, listed in a book, found noted on artwork try to express what had been before. Others are known to a few, cherished in their words, actions, and, for some, giving of themselves that others might live.
The day brings out the honoured living to gather, to watch flowers being laid, speeches told, salutes given and returned. The guns sound, the piper plays, the moment comes, and there is silence.
What are the memories in that moment of time? We young cannot truly understand. Some smile in thoughts of good times with good friends now waiting on the other side of eternity. Others are more stoic, the harsh realities faced brought on this day to the forefront of their thoughts.
There is a price to being a survivor, so it is said. Memories are that price, for good or ill, but they fade, given time. Living memory does not live forever. Too many stories are lost in time, their deeds in the winds that blow, the rains that fall, the silence that reigns.
There is one day given to remembrance, one moment at the top of the hour, an official point in time and space provided to that purpose. It need not be that way; the stories wait to be told, the memories shared, voices of the past speaking in the tones of their friends, wives, children, and more.
Memory fades, but remembrance does not when we ask to listen, share what we learn, and, in doing so, honour them.
A small thing to give when they gave all they were.