I was not there, the day you landed on that beach, slogged through that mud, sat shivering in that trench. The day you offered what little you had left for the promise of what I could be in the future. It would be a long time before I would be here, and even longer before I could fully appreciate what you gave, so I could be.
I wear my poppy proudly, knowing that you offered everything you had. Knowing that a wife like me sat at home with with your picture in her hand dreading that knock on the door. Knowing that a woman, like me, shed countless tears into bloody hands as she tried to nurse so many of you back to your former selves. Knowing that a man, like you drew his last breath for the life I live today.
I wish it was easier, to see the promise you fought for. To cut through the mess and dive into the hope that you brought for us. I wish we had done you more justice. I wish your sacrifice was the last. Maybe someday, somewhere, someone like you will be the last. For what you gave, I honour you, thank you, and assure you that I have not forgotten.