I wear the poppy, lest I forget.

After I saw "jake's gift" by Julia Mackey, that evening driving home, numb, I had to write. What a powerful play. One woman, Julia Mackey, enacted several characters intertwining a magnificent and moving story of a vet returning to Normandy, to Juno Beach where he fought in WWII. He had not visited his brother, Chester, for 60 years, and felt it was well overdue. He felt guilty; he was old and bent over. He met Isabel, a 10 year old girl who lived with her grandmother, Isabel, in a house close to that same beach. The Nazi's took over their house at the beach. Many times the grandmother, Isabel, looked out over the sea, and with a sad look on her face, said to her granddaughter, Isabel, that when you have lost someone, the pain and sorrow is so close to your heart that you cry.

This play was presented by Antony Holland some months ago, and I didn't see it then, but the write-ups and testimonials were overwhelming. So, Antony brought back Julia Mackey for two performances which was why I was able to go. It is hard to know why the emotion of the story moved everyone there, and at different times during the performance. Her depiction was extraordinary. And, I thought of Mum and Dad, and all those who had gone before, their families and our Remembrance Day as a family.

So, with the above in mind, I would like to share our family's story.

Mum met Dad during the service, in the air force, stationed in Ottawa. Dad didn't serve overseas as gangrene had left his leg scarred as a young man, having been caught in a snow storm. He was a crack rifle marksman and taught us all to respect firearms.

They fell in love, married and had five children. Every Remembrance Day, and without fail, we all trooped to the Cenotaph. Almost every year, the day was cloudy, dreary, and heavy with an anticipation I could not completely comprehend.

A fly past of the planes of that era, and I thought, "How could a war be won with planes as these?" My Mum and Dad always stood at attention. Every year, the ceremony, every year the fly past, and a most unusual change of events started to occur. The number people attending, the number of regiments and organizations paying their respects began increasing, the number of planes in the fly past where decreasing, and now my Mum cannot bear to be part of Remembrance Day. She has lost and the sadness is too close to her heart.

We five children get together every year across from the Cenotaph where my Mum lives. My brother gives a toast, it is always moving. We feel so blest to be free because of the veterans, who went willingly, knowing the consequences and yet not knowing, but they went.

I wear the poppy. I am so proud of my Mum and Dad, but the sorrow of those of families I know is close to my heart, too, and I cry for them. Thank you, Antony. We are so deeply moved.