Remembrance Day Out of Uniform

This year, November 11th was my first Remembrance Day out of uniform.

I didn’t want anyone to take a picture of me, wearing a long grey coat with my medals pinned to it, a coat I couldn’t close because I’m too fat. How far I’ve fallen… without falling.

Because it wasn’t about me. Remembrance Day is about the true fallen, those who’ve made true sacrifices. The sacrifice of my sanity to the service isn’t enough. I didn’t see something horrendous overseas. I’ve never even been to Afghanistan.

But I was in Haiti, and it hurt. I didn’t do enough. I wasn’t enough. We couldn’t turn back time. I was in Columbia and Nicaragua. But more importantly, I was in military environments into which I didn’t fit. I tried. A square peg pounding itself over-and-over into a round hole. I didn’t belong and was frequently reminded. For twenty-one years, I was always aware that I was never good enough.

But it wasn’t about me.

I swallowed my pain and smiled for the camera.