Anzac Day morning here and without fail I feel the heaviness of the day.
Both my grandfathers were involved in WW2, not Anzacs, but the impact of their involvement was truly felt.
One died, I believe he was executed. The other was a prisoner of war who came back with PTSD and a view of life that he passed on to his children who passed it on to their children.
Through him I learned frugality. To take only what you can eat and eat everything you have taken.
It gave me a glimpse of what his life was back then, and the trauma he went through for him to carry that over for the rest of his life.
I often wondered what my life would have been like if he never went through what he did. I wondered what my Dad's life would have been like if he grew up knowing his father?
How different everything would have been.
Would I even exist now?