Heroes

My father was the hero I never knew.  He did his best to shepherd Displaced Persons (DPs) from WWII to safe havens at the end of that war, and died in 1952, a few months past his 47th birthday, of his second heart attack, suffered because of the work he did in military government, seconded to the British Army of the Rhine and trying to give refugees a fair shake in the face of Communist Russia.

My step-father was a hero too.  As a Sergeant in the Canadian Black Watch, Royal Highland regiment, he lost two (2) fingers off his right hand and took a bullet through the same arm "somewhere in France" in WWII -- and never talked about it. 

His father died "somewhere in France" in WWI -- 1916 -- leaving behind 3 sons; the youngest -- my step-father -- was aged 2.

Viet Nam was the war being waged when I was in my teens.  I knew that some of the young men in our area -- 16 miles north of the Canada/US border -- went 'south' to sign up and get an education and training in the US Army.  I don't know their names (most were older than I) but...there are those who do.

I couldn't understand that war, and know now -- almost 50 years later -- that many couldn't.  I had rip-roaring arguments about it with my step-father who, having served (and lost) so much,  believed that if/when your country called, you should go.  Even if you had no clear reason (like stopping Hitler) why.

In my early university days I dated a fellow (I still think of him often, and fondly) whose parents were from the U.S. and had moved to Montreal, where his older brother and he were born.  At 18 he renounced his right to US citizenship, in favour of being Canadian -- and a few months later he -- an employee of Canada's Militia that does the Changing of the Guard on Parliament Hill in Ottawa every summer -- found himself guarding our Governor General's home in Ottawa in the midst of the October Crisis, as part of our government's calling on the War Measures Act in the face of terrorism perpetrated at the time by French Canadian nationalists.

He was a hero too.

But the greatest hero in my life was the one I married, the one I knew best, the one who lived with a terminal, incurable illness for almost 47 years.  He loved me, he loved our children, he inspired all of us to be better than we ever thought we could be.

He found his faith later in his life.  He knew he was blessed.  He honoured his parents -- and he honoured me and his children.

He had many friends. 

Living with him in his last decade was indescribably difficult, especially for his children.

There are no easy roads for heroes.

Today, as I see photos of Mrs. McCain paying tribute to her husband Senator John McCain, another hero -- one about whom she will tell stories as I do about mine -- all I want to say to her is:

"I've travelled your road.  Our husbands lived very different lives, experienced very different challenges and traumas.  They were, each in his turn, heroes -- particularly to those who knew them best.

"I hold you in my prayers and in my arms as a companion who has loved a hero, who has children to comfort and stories to tell.

"May God bless you and keep you; may God's light shine upon you and be gracious to you; may S/He lift the light of God's countenance to you and give you Her/His peace, power and love."  AMEN.

PAUSE

...for Life.

I have photos to download, stuff to post...but that will come...later.

Lest you haven't figured it out (yet), I am all about remembering.  Paying attention to the past for what it can teach us going forward.

Tonight I am remembering my cousin, George David Rennie.  Like a number of our tribe, he went by his middle name (as did my aunt; as did my mother; as did my father for much of his life; as do I; as does my son)...

G. David Rennie - December 2, 1923 - June 25, 2015
shown here with one of his many great-grandchildren

David was a cousin of mine several times removed...but only on paper.  In real life, he was a close as a 'phone call (he lived his life without a computer. Imagine that!)

I didn't really get to know him till sometime in the late 1990s when my Aunt Alice Rennie -- then, herself in her nineties -- needed to be moved to a nursing home.  She was the typical spinster-tookcareofherparents-nevermarried-nochildren person... As the only child of her oldest brother (baby brother had no children), I was her only heir.  Because I'd married and moved several thousand miles across the country, and because she knew him well (having taught him in first grade) David became the Executor of her Estate, but I venture to say he did little in that time after her death without checking in with me first.

He and his dear wife, Audrey, took me in when I went East to take care of things, to bury Aunt Alice, and later (with my step-sis) to bury my/our mother, and still later...to bury my husband.

(L) to (R): My father, John Gillies Rennie;
my husband, Howard Martin Blank;
my uncle, Donald Frederick Rennie

Such kindness, love and kinship runs deep in many families...maybe in most families.  It is not always obvious in these days of violence and lost souls...but it is true today, in my family.  In the phone call from David's youngest son, Randy, closest in age to me, who recognized that I needed to hear the news of David's death by mouth, from one family member to another, not merely by text or e-mail or Facebook message, but in person...as close as we can get across the vast land that stretches from Quebec to Alberta.

I will call him in the morning.  I will look online for the obituary in the Montreal Gazette.  I will print it off and put it in my journal.  I will donate wherever is deemed appropriate (because I cannot send baking)...and I will remember.

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.*

*Christina Georgina Rossetti -  1830-1894