I learned pretty early on in life the sacrifice that so many have made in the fight for freedom.
I was eight or nine when we went to Vimy in France my dad was a military pilot stationed in Germany, who thought it would be good for his kids to see some history and there I saw uncountable numbers of skulls and bones of the soldiers who had been killed in battle stacked in a huge pile inside a building I guess they were the ones who were never identified.
I never quite understood then what I was looking at, to a curious young girl the pile of old bones didnt seem that gruesome; I just thought it was kind of cool that there were holes in their foreheads.
Back then, I was much more interested in running around the fields between the white rows of crosses and teasing my dorky little brother who is now a military pilot, like my dad.
But I know what it means now.
I know that those were the skulls of all the soldiers killed in that terrible battle at Vimy. They were fathers, sons, brothers, they were allied and enemy soldiers, but as bones together in a pile, theres no way of telling what side they were on. They lived their lives and were loved in French, in English, in German. They fought against one another for something they thought was important, and then they died. And in death their bones were stacked together in one big pile.
The world has moved on to other conflicts, and now they are just dusty old bones, relics of a war that is quickly being forgotten.
So on this Nov 11th, I would like to say thank you to all of those forgotten bones and those rows of crosses standing in Vimy , and thank you to all of the men and women who risk their lives every day to protect us and our freedoms.
At the same time I pray for the day that no one will ever have to do that againso Ill never have to take my children to see a pile of old bones.