Remembrance Sunday is an important day for us all, it is right and proper that we remember our history and the ultimate sacrifice people made so we could have our freedom. I have always felt that the somber minute silence was a moving ritual for us all.
Two years ago the day took on even more poignancy for me as my grandmother sadly passed away on that day. It was fitting that she chose that day to die (if you had met my grandmother you’d know she was the kind of woman to choose such things!) as she was a war veteran herself. She was a brave and fearless woman who during WW2 took on the Nazis and won. She joined the Belgian resistance and assisted in getting air pilots out of Belgium and back home. She also helped to save Jews and even brought vital information to various generals.
All those adventures and stories coloured my life and I loved hearing them, especially when she would embellish them. My grandmother was a born story teller and she knew how to captivate a room. She had a presence that made people stop and listen.
I miss her terribly and I spent my minute thinking of her (well frankly most of the day). Thanks to the lovely P I have a silk butterfly that she would love sitting on my desk, she would be pleased to see it’s next to a crystal Faberge egg.
Wherever you are lovely Belgian I hope you’re still bewitching people the way you did on earth.