Lost Generation

This video is simply brilliant (and only 1minute and 45seconds):

 

A touching holiday video

I’m not ashamed to admit that this brought tears to my eyes. Say what you will about war, politics, and culture. Love is universal.

 

Lest We Forget

On the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the eleventh hour, Canadians honour the soldiers that fought for and continue to fight for freedom from tyranny. The symbol that represents Remembrance Day for Canadians is the poppy; the poem we memorize as a tribute to our soldiers’ sacrifices was written by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae in 1915:

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

 

In Britain, they recite the the Ode of Remembrance, which I’ve shared with you here to provide context for the title of today’s post. To those who have fallen and those who continue to fight: thank you.

 

The Ode of Remembrance

 

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.

Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

 

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.

 

Lest we forget.

 

 

A Lesson Before Dying

I read end-of-life interviews and it is so sobering to read stories about dying patients’ life histories, hopes, and dreams. In one interview a patient discusses her experiences in health care and how she feels that some nurses need to show more empathy. This patient mentions a poem that they give to nursing students that is themed around this lack of empathy. This poem is so beautiful and so perfect for my purposes that I just had to look it up online and share it with you here:

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking
When you’re looking at me?

A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit,
With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food
And makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice,
“I do wish you’d try!”

Who seems not to notice
The things that you do,
And forever is losing
A stocking or shoe?

Who, resisting or not,
Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding,
The long day to fill?

Is that what you’re thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse,
You’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am
As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,
As I eat at your will.

I’m a small child of ten
With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters,
Who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen
With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now
A lover she’ll meet.

A bride soon at twenty,
My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows
That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide
And a secure happy home.

A woman of thirty,
My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other
With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons
Have grown and are gone,
But my man’s beside me
To see I don’t mourn.

At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me,
My husband is dead,
I look at the future,
I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing
Young of their own,
And I think of the years
And the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old woman
And nature is cruel;
‘Tis jest to make old age
Look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles,
Grace and vigour depart,
There is now a stone
Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass
A young girl still dwells,
And now and again,
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living
Life over again.

I think of the years
All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact
That nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;
Look closer . . . see me.