I was just nineteen—
young, strong, and blind
to the weight of what I’d chosen.
Basic training was the gate,
battle school, a glimpse of war.
Jump school taught me
commitment to each other,
the normalcy of discomfort,
and the importance of detail—
how errors can bury us
as we learned to trust—
in ourselves,
in each other.
Then came the dream assignment—
2 Commando, Canadian Airborne Regiment—
alongside seasoned paratroopers
whose eyes carried the weight
of countless jumps
and a calm under pressure
that defined resilience.
But there was no jump
to prepare for Somalia.
Disorder louder than bullets—
a land gutted of governance,
held in the grip of malice.
Survival bought another day
under a relentless sun.
Our greatest enemies—
heat, uncertainty, mefloquine,
questions without answers.
No parade when we came home—
only empty places, empty faces,
The regiment I’d loved—
soon gone, dissolved in politics.
A loss that made me wonder
if I belonged anymore.
And I, untethered,
wondered, who am I
without this brotherhood?
Years later, ghosts arrived—
first Frank, then Vaughan.
Their names surfacing on morning news,
haunting me from my comfort.
Then Mike’s death, in combat—
I learned from an email,
a reminder of the duty I’d left.
Every Remembrance Day,
the weight grew heavier.
Their absence clawing at me,
guilt a constant companion,
digging deeper,
invisible scars brushed aside.
And I,
unravelling, thought,
Who am I to hurt
when others gave all?
In 2019, a lifeline—
Sean, then Dr May,
countless hours of therapy,
a slow climb from the wreckage.
Family, career, life—
almost gone,
blind to how close I came.
Today, I stand in the shadow
of Remembrance Day,
grateful for healing,
yet grieving losses
etched forever in my mind.
A day that used to anchor us,
now barely noticed.
Its meaning fades,
in a nation forgetting sacrifice,
forgetting loss.
Peace, fragile, brittle.
What price do we pay
as distance dulls remembrance?
Have we grown complacent,
confusing peace for permanence?
Canada—
fractured, scattered,
absent of identity.
Unity replaced by polarization,
apathy, and hollow ideologies.
We’ve forgotten
what once brought us together.
Now I watch, bewildered,
as trivial battles play out—
rhetoric, labels,
grievances that mean nothing
in the dust of war.
Is this what my brothers died for?
Comfort over courage?
Freedom, cheapened.
On Remembrance Day,
I remember my brothers—
those who gave everything,
and those still fighting their ghosts.
Some pay in full, all at once.
Others pay in pieces,
over a lifetime.
Their memories, their absence,
demanding a price—
one too few realize is owed.
And yet—
there is hope.
In the quiet moments of remembering,
I find the strength to share their stories,
to honour what they gave,
to teach others what true courage means.
Perhaps,
if even one person understands,
if one heart wakes up
to the cost of our freedom,
then their sacrifice is not forgotten,
and hope remains.
Lest we forget—
freedom isn’t free.