Who could have ever imagined feeling an unbearable devastation whilst stepping into a dark and untouched room where your own flesh and blood once slept. A young man at just 23 years of age who sacrificed his youth for the wellbeing of mankind. Just your average boy under such abnormal circumstances, who lost his life and all its possibilities in the click of a finger. Just imagine, with the fact that it was your own child. That has been our lives since we lost our precious boy in the depths of the great war without a chance to ever say our goodbyes back in September of 1918.
A wave of intense anguish overrides the joy that was once present with the thought of our son. Visiting a tombstone marking his burial site at Unicorn Cemetery in France rather than seeing and touching him in his charming physical form is quickly followed by diving down a bottle in a desperate and blinded effort to ease the pain. We both toss and turn at night imagining what life might have been like had he made it through the nightmare. Both battered with questions that rip at our hearts like a sword. What was his mindset? What was he feeling? What were his final thoughts right before his traumatized eyes closed for the last time, never to be opened again? Acceptance. Far from easy when your heart is more shattered than glass during a hurricane. But that will have to do for now.
A dirty ripped Khaki uniform that still holds the scent of him is used as comfort for us accompanied by his gleaming portrait among our nightstand like a guardian angel. His smile, eye catching at every opportunity. His vocabulary, such a touching way with words. Similar to when he thanked us for all we had done for him as he stepped onto the deck of the shaggy little boat on his way to battle. Pride pumped through our veins. Never did we think we would have a Private in the 3rd Machine Gun Battalion of the Australian army as our pride and joy. From a small boy who spent his days of innocence playing with toy trains and Jenga blocks to a well mannered and determined man signing his beautiful name on an enlistment form in order to fight for, serve and protect his beloved country. That is where the light finally breaks through the storm and our tears of loss and heartbreak turn blissfully into pride, honour and profound love.
You see, we might have lost a piece of our still beating hearts that cannot be replaced in any way. We may have experienced unbelievable floods of sorrow filled tears and we may feel tremendous guilt for letting the twinkle of our eye go off to the dreadful battle in the first place. But not only did all of that occur at a pace faster than the speed of light, but it also happened with the knowledge of our son fighting for his grounds and all those who walk upon it. He did it with passion. A passion felt and held so strongly within his dedicated heart. He died doing what he loved, protecting his friends and family whom he loved so deeply and loved him back twice as much. Giving his life, having it all end so we were all able to live ours. The ultimate sacrifice. If by chance our heartfelt words could be heard among the stars and in the ears of our little boy who spent his days of innocence playing with toy trains and Jenga blocks, with our hands placed proudly over our hearts, poppies in full bloom and candles crackling among the scent of rosemary, we would like for him to know the words we would tell him, had he made it back home.
“Son, do not worry about whether we are proud. Because we are and your country is too.”
