I remember....

I remember my Great Uncle Tommy, who always had a treat for my brother and I when the family visited, and always smelled like pipe smoke and mothballs.

I don't remember my Great Uncle Will at all, as he did not come back from WWI. But my dad would tell stories.

I remember my Uncle Grant (left) and my Dad. Both were in the RCAF during WWII; my uncle flew in the European theatre, and my dad was a flight instructor, training new pilots in Manitoba.

Who do you remember?

2 Responses to “I remember....”

  1. # Blogger BamBam

    This was a very touching and wonderful post Kat. Be proud!

    I wish I had the memories, despite knowing it would hurt more to lose someone you had the opportunity to love. The pain of never having the chance to even meet some relatives, is not that much fun either.

    I do honestly remember to remember often, all that have gone to make my way better and safer.

    I think of it like a valentines day is supposed to be when I show my love. That's B.S.

    I support rememberance day for them, the ones lucky enough to be part of the day. It is their day. But I choose to remember the ones that have passed quite a bit more often.

    I have often golfed with one of our nations most highly decorated soldiers. I pry stories out of him whenever possible. He only tells bad stories of horror. Each of them filled with names. He never pauses to recall a name, not even at 88! The names flow off his lips as if he can see that friend in front of him right then. He does not tell these stories sadly. He tells them with great pride. Not pride in himself. Never! He speaks of how bravely these young soldiers defended their nation, and those that could not defend themselves.
    I remember .... I just never met any of them.  

  2. # Blogger BigPirate

    I remember Uncle Monk, who scared me as he sat in his chair in the dark, deep voice booming, surrounded by cigarette smoke. He was at Bastogne with his airborne compatriots.

    I don't remember Uncle John Lloyd as he was killed June 6, 1944 jumping into Normandy (after breaking a leg jumping into Sicily the year before). My Dad says I remind him of his favorite brother though, so that makes me feel good.  

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