I miss the cold, blustery day.
I miss a dress uniform, in perfect order.
I miss white nylon gloves, and freezing fingers.
I miss the the fear I would fumble the rifle at the “Present Arms!”
I miss the pain as my fingers slap the forestock.
I miss the gratification of seeing the bayonet rise into my peripheral vision.
I miss the determination that I honour the dead. That I will not shame them by failing on this day.
I miss friends.
This is Remembrance Day for a Veteran. Or, it is for this one.
They shall not grow old. We suffer that indignity for them. And we would trade places if we could. They were the best of us.
And we remember.