Each year we attended the Memorial. We were heroes. We would stand with the other heroes and hear the speeches, take the grateful thanks of the people, go to our memorial lunch.
We’d see those we’d worked with whom we hadn’t seen since last year, attend the luncheon,, talk, eat, then go away.
With my short hair, low placed cap, in uniform, somewhere in the back, I didn’t expect anyone to recognise me. And no one ever did.
After the function, we’d change our clothes in a bathroom, dressing down to not gain attention. We’d go to a park, or a zoo or a garden, any where quiet where we wouldn’t talk.
It wasn’t a decision we made. it was natural. It came from both of us. It was that version of the first fishing trip we took.
That day, when we came from that catastrophic event, together, that day we went to the lake. That day when in a small boat, away from everyone and everything, we let all the trauma dissipate as sweat.
We let our pasts dissipate as sweat.