According to Wikipedia, Anzac Day is a national day of remembrance in Australia and New Zealand that broadly commemorates all Australians and New Zealanders "who served and died in all wars, conflicts, and peacekeeping operations" and "the contribution and suffering of all those who have served". While I was a kid I was acutely aware of ANZAC Day, thanks to having a Grandfather who was the President of our local RSL. We used to call him the Grand Poobah.
My grandfather was the absolute best man I have ever met. For as long as I can remember he was funny and caring, always treating us kids differently, but with no less love for one than the other. He acknowledged our differences and worked with those in the way he played with us. He could be stern, don't get me wrong. If you were too noisy during the News or while he watched is NRL, but the rest of the time he would join in on the fun with us, all while treating both his wife and my mother with the utmost respect. In fact I always swore that one day I would grow up and meet a man like my grandfather and that would be when I knew I'd found the one.
Each year my grandfather would lead the ANZAC Day and Remembrance Day services at our local primary school. He would speak about the War and what it meant. He would speak of the sacrifices the men and women of our country made so that we could live our life with the freedom we have today. I stood tall, spoke clearly, but even as a kid I could hear the undertone of sadness in his voice. This man had lived some shitty experiences to have these kinds of tales. Yet here he stands, speaking to the children in our local area, telling them about the story of the ANZACs and a child-friendly version of what they had to endure.
It wasn't until I got older that I heard the full story of what he had to go through. I haven't asked for permission to tell that side of his story today, however I can say that he suffered immensely as a result. He was given a DVA pension for the PTSD he suffered as a result of what he had to do and see. It was a battle, mind you. He was rejected many times over and had to reapply in ways that ticked all of the right boxes for the Government official to put their APPROVED stamp on it. Seriously, could they not just sit down with these men and women, have a conversation with them, have them meet with a psychiatrist and then just approve it from there? Do we need to reject claims based on administrative errors?
My grandfather lived to the ripe old age of 80. He had a fantastic 80th birthday, surrounded by friends and family. He had been sick for quite some time so we were acutely aware that this could be his last. And we were right. A few short months later he died. He was on life support for a few days, but that was mostly so that his wife and daughters would have the chance to say goodbye.
I miss this man terribly. The memory of him slips in to my mind at the most random of times. None moreso then ANZAC Day and Remembrance Day. So while I do respect the service of the tens of thousands of other men and women who have enlisted in our military, today I mostly think of my grandfather, and how grateful I am that he made it home.
No comments:
Post a Comment