I slept in. My reasoning was I have uni all weekend and I won’t get to sleep in again until next Saturday.
I woke up thinking I should go to the march. But it was a bit late for that. And I feel a bit guilty about it all because it is a significant day.
My mother lost three uncles, two in Papua New Guinea, where she is now living. Her father and other uncles also fought in WW2. This day is really important to her and thus its important to my brothers and I. I think of my grandfather, who I vaguely remember from when I was a toddler. I think of the hardships these men would have gone through fighting in the jungles of PNG, how foreign and alien the place would have been for them when they first arrived.
At least one of my mother’s uncles was never found. Neither had a grave.
Today my brother went to the dawn service in Port Moresby, the PNG capital. At the Bomana War Cemetery he found their names amongst the sea of headstones.
My mother was in tears when he sent her the photos. I feel teary too. It’s a weird mixture of sadness, happiness and completeness.
Lest we forget.