November 12, 2017 –
Yesterday was Remembrance Day and an opportunity for all of us to remember those who died for freedom and those who are still fighting for freedom today. I proudly wear my poppy each year to honour our veterans. This year was no different. I kept one on my coat and one at work to put on whatever I was wearing that day. At work, I noticed that nobody wore a poppy. It made me feel a bit out of place but, nonetheless, I wore it each day.
Over the past week, I found myself thinking of my Uncle Desi. He was my Mom’s brother. He fought in Korea. I remember seeing pictures of him with my mom and dad standing in front of some statue in Montreal. He was in uniform and he looked so young and fresh. So full of life. To me, Uncle Desi was the epitome of cool. He had this smooth, 1950’s look about him. Swagger. I would compare him to Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra. There was just something about him.
Uncle Desi was fortunate to return home from the war. I remember him sleeping on our couch and hearing him talk in his sleep. He used to count to 10 in English and then count backwards in French. As a child, I thought it was funny. I’m sure we, as a family, made small jokes about it. Now we would acknowledge that he suffered from PTSD. I’m not sure how he “got through it”. I’m not even sure if he did. I was too young. And, then we moved away and we lost touch.
I recall him visiting us after we moved to Toronto. I must have been in my early 20s. My mom had called and said he was coming to visit. We all planned to meet at her apartment that evening. I was walking along the sidewalk towards the building. Walking towards me was this man who oozed cool – Uncle Desi. We both stopped and looked at each other. I was about to say who I was, since he hadn’t seen me since I was maybe 6 years old, and he said “You don’t have to say who you are. You look so much like her.” He reached out and gave me a hug.
I don’t remember much about his visit. If it were to happen now, I probably would summon the courage to ask him about his experience there. And, maybe he would talk about it. It’s amazing how many opportunities we are given to connect and they are missed for whatever reason. If it were to happen now there’d be tons of photos. Sadly, I don’t have access to all of my mom’s photos – she gave them to my sister for ‘safekeeping’. But the image is forever etched in my mind – young and full of life and swagger.
Diary of a DOW 