FOR THE EXERCISE

I wrote this piece immediately following the 2019 Remembrance Day Community Service in my home town. Little did any of us know what the following year would bring.

It’s a cold day, but sunny. I decide to walk. That way, I can kill two birds with one stone—show my gratitude to veterans while also getting my daily exercise. Sure, I could drive instead. But the congestion leaving the island afterwards will make the walk worth it. Win-win.

I arrive early and find a seat on the end of a row for a quick getaway. I decide I won’t allow myself to get emotional this year. Becoming emotional is too draining and I have goals for the rest of my day.

The place begins to fill, and I move to the middle of the row so folks won’t need to climb over my knees. Within minutes, I am joined by my friends Oege and Ineke Boersma, who take the seats to my left. A few minutes later another friend, Ferdi Van Dongen, sits on my right.

“I think I’m in the wrong row!” I joke, suddenly surrounded by Dutch immigrants.

While we wait for the service to begin, Ineke tells me how she was born only four days after the Germans invaded Holland on May 10, 1940. Her father was away, driving ambulance at the front lines. Her mother gave birth at home, with a midwife. I try to imagine how frightening it would be for a young woman to deliver a child into a country occupied by enemy forces, her husband not around.

Ferdi tells me he was also born at home with a midwife. His birth came nearly twenty years after Ineke’s, but his parents’ memories of the war are similar to hers. Both families hold great respect and gratitude toward the Canadian soldiers who liberated their country.

“Dad always said without the Canadians and Americans stepping in, we’d be in Siberia now,” Ferdi says.

Ineke agrees, although her parents always thought they’d have ended up in Poland.

I ask Ferdi if his parents’ appreciation for Canada is what inspired him to come here, and he says it probably did.

A few minutes later, we stand together to sing O Canada. I listen to these naturalized citizens of my beautiful country belt out the anthem with gusto. I sing, too. Not being a sports enthusiast, I have few opportunities to sing it anymore.

But when we reach the line, “God keep our land glorious and free,” my voice stops cooperating. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ferdi raise his hand ever so slightly. I know that for him, the words are not merely sentimental lyrics, but a heart-felt prayer to the only One who can truly keep our country either glorious or free. The lump in my throat prevents me from singing.

Later, we watch the Silver Cross Mother, Jane MacKay, make her way forward to lay a wreath at the cenotaph. Jane’s son, Master Corporal Timothy Wilson, died in a vehicle accident in Kandahar in 2006. My heart goes out to her in a way it has not done in the past. Perhaps that’s because the older I get, the younger the Silver Cross Mothers seem to be and therefore, the easier to identify with. She’s on my mind through the remainder of the service.

On my walk home, I reflect on all these things. The air is cold. It’s Canada, after all. We know about cold air. We sometimes wonder why so many from warmer climates flock to this country. And then we remember. We remember that we don’t know what it’s like to live with invading countries taking over our homes, schools, churches, farms. We don’t know how it feels to be denied the freedom to participate in a public ceremony or to walk home afterwards in fear of arrest.

I hear a friend call my name as she rolls down her car window and asks if I want a ride, but I decline.

I need the exercise.