Today is Veterans' Day. War vets and volunteers are at all sorts of stores, selling poppies. I've always bought poppies. Several every year in fact. Can never get the darn things to stay on. Oh, believe me, I have tried every which way: weaving the pin through the fabric several times, like you would a pin in a corsage. I've tried once through, twice through. Never stays on. I met a friend at Starbucks the other day and was telling her my poppie tale of woe. She laughed hysterically. During that conversation, the poppie fell off of my shirt three times!
Ah well. My heart is in the right place. In fact, this year I was so determined to always have a poppie pinned over my heart that I went to a legion hall and literally bought an entire box of poppies. There are eight poppies pinned on my window visor, just in case I lose one in my travels. I've replaced those poppies twice.
I was always taught by my dad (also a World War II Vet)to shake a Vet's hand when I met one, and thank him for the sacrifices he made for me. For the longest time, I never understood what my dad was talking about, but I always did it. I even raised my kids to do the same thing. Oh, I heard the stories and I even interviewed a lot of Vets for my radio show. And during my nursing career I took care of a lot of them. But it took a long time before I actually got it. Before I really understood what the sacrifices were.
The first vet I met had fought in World War I, the Big War. Jim. He was in his late seventies when he had his stroke and I took care of him. His wife had died a few months before and he was incredibly depressed, refused physio, even refused to eat. He wanted to die and his lungs were becoming congested. If we didn't figure out how to fix his depression he would have been dead in a few weeks.
I was young and naive then, so I didn't quite understand why the doctor seemed to think I would be able to break through and 'snap him out of it.' But I was willing to give it all I had to help this man.
I tried everything. I teased, cajoled, begged, but to no avail. I was failing miserably.
Then one morning while walking/dragging him to the shower I started to hum, more to keep my own spirits up at that point. All of a sudden Jim came to attention and started to march. I began to sing the words to the song..."It's a long way to Tipperary, it's a long way to go..." Jim sang along. After a few times around the ward I sat him by a window and brought him tea with an English muffin. And Jim told me about his experiences in the war.
He was always on KP duty he recalled. "Ah, lass, I was a skinny bloke, back then. I was so skinny I couldn't keep my putties properly wrapped. They were always falling down." Putties were the material wrapped around a soldier's ankles.
Jim told me how his wife was a nurse and she took care of him when he was wounded. "It was love at first sight, you know. I'll never understand what she saw in me, but I'm that glad that she saw something. She saved me."
Over the next several days Jim regaled me with harrowing tales from that war and how he had lost nearly all of his friends. He never forgave himself for surviving. And now that his wife was gone, he felt even guiltier.
But what had made him so depressed was the conundrum he faced. He wanted to be buried by his wife, but he wanted a part of him to be scattered across the graveyard where his friends were buried. His doctor came up with the solution. Jim had his will changed to say that he wanted to be cremated. Half of his ashes were to be scattered on his wife's grave; the other half he wanted scattered where his buddies lay. Jim had a coronary a few weeks later at his home. He died a much happier man.
I have taken care of many war Vets since Jim. All of them have incredible tales, many of them I wish I had never heard. I lose sleep over them. There was the navy vet who had been stationed in Pearl Harbour when it was attacked. After so many years he still cried when he talked about that day. He told me that the men who survived had all made a pact. When they died their bodies would be buried where the ships sank, so they could join their buddies.
There was the Vietnam vet who had such horrific nightmares when he slept. We couldn't help him. He eventually committed suicide.
The list goes on.
And then came 'Saving Private Ryan' and 'The Band of Brothers,' two films so beautifully made and eloquent. Now, the people my age and even younger understand. And now when War Vets sell their poppies, so many people stop to say "thank you for all of the sacrifices you made for me." And the Vets smile, pleased for the acknowledgment.
There was a thank you note from a War Vet in the newspaper today. His license plate on his car had a poppie on it, something our Canadian government does to show our pride in our servicemen. Someone had seen the poppie, placed a Tim Horton's gift certificate under the windshield wiper with a note: Thank you for all that you did so I could be free. Enjoy.
It took us a while, but I am so glad that we get it now.
So, let me add my heartfelt thanks to all of the war vets out there. Truly, I thank you for all that you sacrificed so I could be free. You will forever be in my heart and prayers.