Tomorrow is ANZAC Day. Every year people gather in huge numbers, in major cities, in country towns, in ex-pat communities around the world, to commemorate the Diggers from Australia and New Zealand. Not this year, though. This year will be different.
We will still commemorate, but it will be more private. Residents of a street standing in their driveways. Members of a household standing for a minutes silence. There will be no grand pageantry. But I think that's somehow just as fitting.
For me, ANZAC Day has always been about the moments of solitude, remembering those who fought, who maybe didn't come home, or came home completely changed by the experience. Many returning soldiers, especially from World War II, don't like to speak about what happened to them. My grandfather never talked about it. All I have are his service records to show something of what he did. They don't want to burden their loved ones with the horrors of war.
While I don't think it is healthy for anyone to keep completely silent about the traumas they have endured, regardless of the type of trauma, I do think it's important for us, the civilian population, to cherish those moments of silence, to reflect, and to consider the impact of those events on the people, on our communities and our countries as a whole.
With our World War I ANZACs all gone, and our World War II vets low in number, it is up to us to remember, to commemorate and to carry the baton forward. We must use our moments of solemnity to bring to mind the reasons for their sacrifice, the lessons learned from these tragedies and the promise we must make not only to ourselves but to our family, our friends and our future generations to not repeat the mistakes of history, to not surrender an entire generation to the futility of war, and to not ever be at peace with the loss of so many for the sake of greed and selfishness.
Lest we forget.
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