They Are Now A Part Of Us

I wrote and posted this essay last November, but wanted to publish it again today lest we forget the price paid, the lives lost, and the continued sacrifice of so many.

My grandfather, Ellis, served in the Canadian Navy during World War II. At some point in the 1940s, his ship was torpedoed; it sank and he floundered in the chilly Atlantic. He survived that attack and the war itself. Sadly, he was unable to defeat the cancer diagnosis that came 18 years later.

I know very little about my grandfather. When my brother was little he saw a picture of Grampie and pointed, saying: Daddy!

My father – in looks at least – was a carbon copy of his father, most notably inheriting his distinctive ears. When my mother looks at pictures of her grandson (my 8-year-old) she often says: You sure can see traces of his grandfather. Especially those ears!

This means, of course, he bears traces of his great-grandfather as well.

After the war, my grandfather settled in Saint John, Canada. He married Evelyn. By the time he died in the 1960s, he left behind four children (and had buried another – her name was Elizabeth). My father, the eldest, was only 15.

From what I gather, he rarely talked about the war. Surely it haunted him. How couldn’t it?

It seems incomprehensible how deeply an entire generation was touched by war. Those on the front lines, of course, but those at home, too. Mothers and sisters and daughters, huddled around their radios listening to crackled voices sharing daily updates. The war impacted everyone…with reverberations felt by the generations that followed.

Those “lucky” ones – the ones that survived – got to come home. My grandfather was a lucky one. War was over.

What would he make of the newsfeed on my phone this morning?

I can’t – and hopefully never will – fully understand what my grandfather experienced. I don’t know if he had nightmares and flashbacks. I don’t know how many friends he lost. Was it dozens? Did his heart default to gratitude for survival, or did that very survival haunt him?

I don’t know how long he was adrift in the ocean or what horrors he experienced (or had to inflict) but this I know – if arms hadn’t reached out to grab him from the Atlantic, I wouldn’t be here today.

Without that rescue, there is no me. No us.

And so, in memory of Grampie Ellis:

We Remember Them by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer

In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.
In the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them.
In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them.
In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them.
In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them.
When we have joys we yearn to share, we remember them.
So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.

Header photo by Bart Ros on Unsplash