Remembrance Day: My Dad Was Sixteen

My dad was sixteen.

Sixteen, at Normandy, fighting for a world he had barely had the chance to grow up in.

The same age as my son.

In the rare moments he shared anything about it, he spoke of being on one of the boats. He was a soldier who witnessed it, and he rarely spoke of what he’d seen.

He had signed up early. He lied for the opportunity to do what he felt was right. He went to fight for our freedoms. He believed so much in the cause that he was willing to pay with his life.

And I am militant about honouring the people who defended those freedoms, and about keeping them for our children.

Remembrance Day is not a day I can brush off. It should never become one.

He gets room to be young

I look at Lanny, who sometimes has a hard time remembering what’s in a formula, and the distance between their lives stops me in my tracks. Not because I think less of my son. Because I’m so grateful his sixteen gets to look different.

He gets to learn. Forget something. Ask again. Find his feet beside me in our little business. He gets room to be young.

What an extraordinary inheritance that is.

We are so blessed by the gift of freedom we inherited. And when I look at Lanny’s generosity, his kindness, and the honourable person he’s becoming, I see something of my dad carried forward.

Not the same life. Thank goodness, not the same demands.

But that goodness. That willingness to care about someone beyond yourself.

Lanny carries my dad’s name as his middle name. I see him carrying something of his character, too.

My dad, beyond the uniform

There are so many things a name alone cannot bring with it.

This time of year, I miss Dad’s quiet calm. I miss the bourbon in the garage that he thought we never knew about. I miss the ordinary moments that didn’t announce themselves as the things I would ache for later.

I wish he and the kids had had more time.

There isn’t a tidy way to say that. I just wish they’d had more time.

The people who bridged the years

My grandfather fought in the First World War. My dad witnessed Normandy in the Second.

I wish more people today could have met them. Not just read about those wars, but sat with the people who had lived through them. Known their voices. Experienced them as whole people, not only as names, uniforms, or photographs.

My parents adopted us late in life. They bridged that distance between generations for me, bringing experiences into our home that I might otherwise have known only through history books.

They were unimaginably amazing in the things they taught us.

And, like children do, we took so much of it as simply the way life was. We didn’t know what to cherish yet. We didn’t understand how much we were being given until so much later.

Some days, I would give anything to ask another question. 

For another cup of tea at 6 am with toast and a saucer for the dog.

The things our hands remember

The smell of comfrey still brings me to my knees missing Mom.

One scent, and there she is.

I remember the herbs through the ways she spoke of them and the things she taught us: lobelia, comfrey, yarrow, fenugreek, thyme. Those family memories belong to her kitchen and her voice, not a set of instructions for someone else to follow.

The plants were woven into ordinary life. Into paying attention. Into making something with your hands and caring enough to learn.

When I work with botanicals now, I carry those memories with me. Not everything stays the same. We keep learning, questioning, and making thoughtful choices. But the love behind that learning is still here.

So much of what we carry forward begins with someone who took the time to teach us.

Freedom is not an abstract thing to me

When I think about freedom, I think about the life I’m able to live.

Being a woman with a voice. Having a business. Learning, asking questions, and making choices. Raising my son to be an immensely generous soul who understands that other people’s freedoms matter, too.

I want him to know the people behind the name he carries. To understand why remembrance matters so fiercely to me.

My dad answered a call that asked more of him than I can imagine. I hope our children never face that same demand. But I want us to raise people who will stand up for one another, who understand that freedom comes with responsibility, and who will not turn away when someone else’s is threatened.

Honouring the people who defended our freedoms also means paying attention to what we do with them.

Please don’t brush this day aside

I’m honoured to be the child of a veteran.

And it hurts to see Remembrance Day forgotten, hurried past, or treated as an inconvenience between one season and the next.

It shouldn’t be. Ever.

We don’t need our remembrance to look identical. Some people attend a ceremony. Some stand quietly. Some carry names and stories they can share, and some carry things they cannot put into words.

But please, make room for the day.

Remember that behind the history were people. People who had families, ordinary habits, favourite drinks, and children who would one day miss their quiet in the garage.

People like my dad.

We carry it forward

I can’t give Dad and the kids more time. I can’t bring Mom back by opening a jar of herbs, however suddenly the scent makes her feel close.

But I can say their names. Tell their stories. Teach what they taught me, and keep learning where they left off. 

I can raise Lanny, his sister, my beautiful grandbabies with love, generosity, and an understanding that the life we’re building did not begin with us. To care for the people around them and the earth beneath their feet. And someday, if the call comes and the reasons are good enough, to be willing to pay that price.

Though I pray to God we get the world’s shit together, and that none of my beloveds ever have to face that choice in their lifetimes.

And I can refuse to let this day become an afterthought.

For my dad. For my grandfather. For those who served, those who never came home, and those who came home carrying what they rarely spoke of.

We remember.

Lest we forget.

We won’t be at the market on November 11. We’ll be taking that time to honour our family and the fallen. Thank you for understanding and giving us room to remember.

With love and remembrance,
Sara-Kate and Lanny
Sensus Naturae Herbals