An Old Man

I wanted to share this piece I found. It is supposed to have been written by an old man in a ward, and found only after he passed away. I am not sure if this is true, or just some urban legend. However, it doesn't matter. It is still a beautiful piece, and it still brings a great point across. Parts of it reminded me of my own father, in his last days. Old age is part of our lives, and it can be a very hard moment.

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A cranky old man, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food and makes no reply
when you say in a loud voice 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice the things that you do.
And forever is losing a sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse.
You're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young boy of sixteen with wings on his feet,
dreaming that soon now a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at twenty, my heart gives a leap,
remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five, now I have young of my own
who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A man of thirty y young now grown fast,
bound to each other with ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my wife is now dead.
I look at the future. I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man and nature is cruel.
It's jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass, a young man still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people open and see.
Not a cranky old man.
Look closer.
See ... me!

Father King and Mother Queen, Together Forever At Last

What a beautiful ending for the month of July! My amazing Father went to join his beloved wife, my Mother, at last on July 31st at around 3:30am. His passing was quick, relatively painless, soft, and with dignity. His children were able to hold him, kiss him, comfort him, and show him how much they loved him. His caring team, the staff at The Veterans Affairs Hospital in San Juan, showed him respect and ensured his passing was natural and gentle, the best any daughter could wish for her father.

Today, I am at peace because I know Dad wanted nothing more of this world, except the best for his children. His love for me was evident, and his desire that we "live our own" happy life was concrete. He longed to be with his life companion, Mother Queen, a fact that became evident from the moment she departed in 2011. He lost all interest in this life, and remained only as long as G-d allowed him to, without heed for medications, doctor appointments, or much hassle. He lived a simple life, made even simpler by his quiet, stoic mannerisms and his acceptance. In his grief, he removed everything that reminded him of her from sight and never watched TV again, one of her most favourite pass-times. He spent quiet time in his home, as he wished. Mom must've been calling him, waiting for him, longing to remove my Father's sadness, but waiting patiently until G-d finally allowed Dad to join her. As he drifted effortlessly into the sleep of passing, I know he was happy, proud, and at peace.

I am proud to be his daughter, and to recite the Mourners Kaddish in his honour.

Magnified and sanctified be His great name. In this world which He has created in accordance with His will may He establish his kingdom during your lifetime and during the life of all the House of Israel. Speedily, and let us say, Amen. Let His great name be blessed for ever and to all eternity!
Blessed, praised, glorified and exalted, extolled, honored, magnified and lauded, Be the name of the Holy one, blessed be He. He is greater than all blessings, hymns, praises and consolations,  Which can be uttered in this world; and let us say Amen. May abundant peace from heaven descend upon us, And may life be renewed for us; and let us say, Amen. He who makes peace in the heavens, may He make peace, For us; and let us say, Amen.

Farewell, Dad. I love you so much ! I will miss you every year, just like I miss Mom. However, I really know you guys are together, and your energy and love will continue to flow through my life. I will honour your teachings and traditions, always. I will honour your names and heritage. I am grateful for your love and endless support, and I wish you peace. Hasta Siempre !

Dad moves back in with Mom in Heaven. Love you, guys!

 

  

My Birthday

It's my birthday today.
 I remember how, when I was a child, on every one of my birthdays Dad and Mom would retell the story of my birth. It was a lovely tradition, one I waited for happily just as much as I waited to eat the frosting on my cake. (I didn't eat the cake back then, just the frosting.) They did the same for my sisters, letting us know the time and the process through which we came into this world. The telling of anyone's story soon became the telling of all of our stories because my sisters would soon demand to hear about their births too. Mom seemed very happy to tell us, smiling at each detail.

My story fascinated me. I was a "miracle baby," Mom would say. Dad always said those words on the morning of my birthday, repeating them like a mantra I never quite understood, but which made me smile as I opened my presents and read my cards.

My labour took ages, stubborn little thing that I was. More like big thing. I was all bent and goofy inside the womb, with my shoulders arching out so that poor Doctor Doval couldn't manoeuver me without a hassle, and I was big. I was born hairy and soon turned into a crazy, hairy, loud toddler. During my labour, the doctor wanted to use forceps to bring me out, but Dad was dead against it. Too much to risk, so I came like Julius Caesar to the sound of "Copacabana," which the doctor sang over and over as he delivered me. I wonder if my paediatrician sang along, too? No wonder I loved music! A long time passed since Mom arrived at the Perea Hospital until the moment I uttered my first baby cries, and I've been told the doctor never stopped singing. Once I was delivered I was placed inside a respirator machine, because I had trouble breathing. This lead my parents to remove their prized rose garden, which held so many beautiful flowers, and to forbid me any pets. I couldn't draw or paint for too long without nose bleeds marring my paintings and, after a while, Dad got rid of the hundreds of pigeons on our backyard. No one was taking any chances with my health.

 

I remember lying in my baby cot, hearing the noises of the people in the house and not wanting to go to sleep. I remember Mom putting me in the crib and asking me to close my eyes. I remember the lights from the door, and the sounds of the many musical toys and mobiles on my crib. There was a tiny train that moved along the railing of the crib, making music. I remember being happy and feeling safe and smelling so many perfumes. I soon developed into a loud, energetic child. I loved my sisters and together we would play, sing, and run around from sun up to sun down. We loved playing in the rain, making our own dolls, and creating stories.

36 years I've enjoyed to this day. I've lived in Puerto Rico, Florida, New York, England, and now Australia. I've studied writing, literature, pedagogy and medicine in four different universities. I've been part of the US Airforce, a dynamic biology association [the AEB] and am now involved in theatre and music companies. I've lied so many wonderful memories and shared life with some fantastic people. Oh, and there are so many wonderful adventures yet to be had. I look forward to them all! But I will always treasure the story of my beginning, of my birth, and I will always remember that day to the sound of "Copacabana" and the laughing voice of my father as he called me "the miracle baby." 

  

Free Us From False Pride: A Prayer

When my Mother was dying a few years ago, I discovered "Libranos de Falso Orgullo," a song by Tony Croatto. Turns out Mom didn't play all of the songs in his records, so I've discovered a few, amazing songs years after I first began to listen to his music. It's been a good feeling, finding new lyrics and new melodies. This one stuck out to me, particularly during the period when I drove to and from work, hoping she would survive, but knowing she was leaving me. Certain parts of the song make me cry because of the pitch of the voice or the instruments, or simply because of the words. There are a few songs that cause this type of reaction in me, and they are not all romantic or sad songs. I can't explain it, but certain notes and certain musical phrases make me cry.

I really like the message behind the song: that human beings can become consumed by arrogance, egoism and pride. They can forget that G-d is the master and that He is the one Who gives us the talents and opportunities we encounter. Also, when we receive great talents and gifts, we can easily start to think we are better than everyone else, or that we do not need anyone else to help us, or worse -- that we got to fame and glory all on our own. This is the "falso orgullo" [false pride] that Croatto speaks about. Caught in excitement and in fame, people can forget to thank G-d for all He's given us, and to remain still in a moment of silence and enjoy the fruits of our hard work.

As I prepare for this Saturday's event, "Noches de Candela," I wish to share this song, here translated into English, as a form of prayer. I wish to thank G-d for the gifts of music, creativity, perseverance, and courage. I also wish to thank the many people who have helped me make this event, my first mini-concert as a soloist, a reality. Each one of you helped out in your own, unique manner. I hope I never get caught in arrogance and pride, and that I never forget that I wouldn't be anything without my family, my spouse, my friends, my creative peers, and without G-d. If you would like to listen to the song, let me know. I am happy to send you a music file so you may enjoy Tony Croatto's music.

Free Us From False Pride

If along his journey, man only searches for himself,
caught in arrogance and egoism,
he can only head towards darkness.
He cannot recognize the other, beautiful voices inside of himself:
the ones that break into his spirit and into his soul
and help him understand, in a moment of calmness,
that he owns his owns errors.

I am the painter’s brush.
I am the hammer of the carpenter.
I am the yeast used by the bread maker
and the tools of the sculptor,
but You, Lord, are the artist
that creates a flower out of a bud,
the ocean from a wave.
The One Who creates flour from wheat.
I tell you humbly, my Lord,
those fruits belong to You.

The splendor of power and riches is so alluring.
It is a pleasure that can generate pain.
But inside of me an emotion is born
like the light of a firefly,
a intermittent whispering of peace and tranquility.
Through Your greatness, Lord, free me from false pride.

Those who finish last will be the winners.
Serving brings freedom.
Silence is kindness
and loving you, G-d, means becoming lost in You.

I am eager to enjoy the flowers in Your garden,
like the king of the shepherds.
Lord, please, bless me.
Keep me away from the temptation
of craving honor and glory.

Our mistakes belong to us.
The fruits of our talents and labour are yours, Lord.
Free us from the false pride
that makes us crave honour and glory.

My fruits are Yours, Lord.

A Cup of Gratefulness

When faced with the words "we've found a cyst in your body" your heart jumps into your throat. If those words are followed by "we've found several cysts in several, different internal organs" your heart and kidneys and stomach jump to your throat. You feel dizzy, faint, and nausea takes hold. You fear the worst. You lie in bed unable to go to sleep, or with a heavy feeling in the chest, or with a lump in the throat. You are scared and it is so difficult to stay positive when you are scared.

That's when your friends step in, when your family shows up, when G-d shines rays of light in the shape of blessings. That's when your partner draws closer to you, hoping he'll chase away the darkness. Without these beautiful people, you'd sink into a deep, horribly dark hole and you'd find yourself looking up, not knowing how to get out. 

I am grateful to every single person that's taken the time to speak to me, to write to me, to hug me, to buy coffee for me, and to laugh with me. I know we are all busy. I know we are all bogged down with difficulties, financial hardships, and problems. That's what makes it ever more special when people like you put their problems on hold for just a second and take the time to see me or talk to me, to help me smile again. I am very, very grateful. 

I know, my friends, that G-d will repay your kindness one way or another. I hope he uses me in His methodology. I can't ever drink alcohol again, but I shall always be raising a delicious pint of cider in your name!

Viva la Musica de Puerto Rico !

When you love your culture and your country, moving to a new land always brings a deep sense of nostalgia. You leave behind the streets you roamed when you were a kid, the foods that comforted you when you felt low, the buildings that cemented your history, and the music that made you move even when that felt impossible. Having left my homeland of Puerto Rico over 17 years ago I know that nostalgia all too well. I am a member of the Diaspora, and as such, I often look back towards my island and long to return, even as I realize that my path in life does not lead there anymore.

However, I carry the essence of my culture and my people with me in everything I do and say. The speed of my words, the loudness of my voice, the harshness of my opinions, my need for company and to get together around the table. Every time I see a beach, I've got to sample it. Every time I hear Spanish, I've got to listen closer to see if it's from Puerto Rico or Mexico or Spain. Every time I listen to music or watch a music show, I keep an eye out for performers with Latin roots, people like Ricky Martin, Pitbull, Jennifer Lopez, Marc Anthony, and Bruno Mars. I smile widely whenever a Puerto Rican achieves: when Puerto Rico came second in the Baseball World Series, when Javier Culson won medals for his hurdles running, when one of our chefs won the "best pizza made in America" award in a pizza making contest in Italy. Sometimes, I listen to the musical "West Side Story," just to smile at the fact that it tells the story of my people, and how we feel away from our island. Everything Puerto Rican makes me smile wider, and remember who I am. It is national pride, a fact that is part of my personality.

 

I love being Puerto Rican. This is why when I met Luisa, a dance instructor at the Albury Wodonga Dance Centre, I felt an instant connection. She's from Mexico, but like me, she loves her Latin roots. I mentioned my dream of creating a Latin entertainment evening, and she didn't hesitate to jump in. Together with her partner, Daniel, and with the assistance of the studio's owner, Glen, they allowed me to put together a night that features salsa, cumbia, and Spanish pop-ballads. They would teach salsa dancing to the Australian people, and I would sing. One of my dreams was finally coming true: being able to share the music of my heritage with the Australian public.

On July 6, at 7:00pm at The Rubix Cafe at The Cube, I will hold my first mini-concert, which means so much to me. I will perform songs by Hector Lavoe, Jerry Rivera, Marc Anthony, Shakira, Carlos Vives, and Tizziano Ferro. I will present songs my mother loved so much, such as "La Barca" and "La Puerta" in the style of Luis Miguel. The finale features the song "Hasta Ayer," a song that combines salsa with traditional Puerto Rican music. I know that the evening will be an emotional one for me, as my mind remember the many times I heard these songs in my family home, the many times they played on the radio as we drove around the island. I will feel pride and love for my country, my family, and my roots.

I am so grateful to G-d for this opportunity, for the support of my friends [whom I will not embarrass by mentioning here], and for the support from The Cube and local media. Also, the fact that my family always believes in me, that my mother and father always told me to reach for my dreams and make them come true. I hope the evening pleases the Australian audience it will be presented to, and that this becomes one of the many moments in my lifetime when I sing in this fashion.

Viva Puerto Rico !

Together, in this Place we Never Wanted to Be

Difficult times bring so many difficult emotions. Those emotions swell within you, threatening to swallow you alive. You can’t sleep. You can’t focus at work. You find yourself uttering nonsense. You walk around town like a zombie. You reach out to the sky, desperately hoping someone will answer. Will erase your sorrow, and take away the difficulty. Make everything how it used to be. You cry and scream. You lie awake at dawn.

You reach out to others.

However, in times of difficulty, it seems a lot of people tend to draw away from you. Faced with the sorrow in your eyes, they might become afraid or might get angry. They cannot deal with their own emotions, or feel powerless to help you, so they draw away. When you need people in your life the most, a lot of them move away and leave you alone.

But, not all of them. It is those few, wonderful people in my life that I wish to celebrate today. The ones who have seen me crying and have stopped to ask me how I am doing. The ones who call me to ask me how I am. The ones who remind me that, in their eyes, I am beautiful, wonderful, unique, and amazing. The ones who share their life stories and personal injuries so I may take heart. I celebrate the ones who buy me coffee so I may smile. The ones who send me messages throughout the day, out of the blue, so I may not feel alone. The ones who chat with me long distance from England and America, or between breaks in their jobs here in Australia, to cheer me on as I wait in clinics, hospitals, or lie awake at night. The ones who listen. The ones who offer solutions, herbal teas, and jokes. The ones who harbor so much faith, it cannot help but infuse me.

I am grateful. I know we all live difficult, complex lives. We are all caught in the middle of hardships. Most of us struggle to pay the rent, and we all carry a little bit of sorrow in our shoes. Taking the time to care for someone else is demanding, draining, and hard. That makes the gesture of those people that care even more wonderful and touching.

To everyone who has been there for me, in one way or another, during the difficult times I am living: thank you.

Thank you.

Rain and a Father

Rain outside my window. The last few days have been a torrential downpour of emotions for me.

My beautiful father, Juan Domingo Bonet, lost his ability to live on his own, a fact a daughter never wishes to see. I'd been fearing the worst since April, when I was trying very hard to stay happy during the production of The Sound of Music. On May 15, my father underwent a medical and mental deterioration that placed his life in danger, and as much as it hurt me to do it, he could no longer remain in our family home.

My father always was a stoic, proud man of militaristic discipline and strength; a lawyer, a social worker, a teacher, an agronomist, a Korean veteran, an activist and freedom fighter. During his lifetime he served different roles and generated incredible memories. He loved his wife, my mother, very dearly and cared for her until the end of her life. He built an incredible home for us, where we never, ever went without anything. He loved to paint and I remember him painting the walls of our house different colours at least once a year. Machete in hand, he'd spend hours in the backyard, sorting the patio. On Sundays, he would mow the lawn. I remember the way he'd come to the window every now and then and talk to my mother or say some lame joke over the window bars. Then, he'd come in to read his newspaper, listen to the news and to "talk back" radio on a portable radio, and drink his coffee before retiring for one of his incredibly long and habitual naps.

An easy going man, he loved walking the streets of our city, Mayaguez, and chatting to strangers on the street. I remember my father standing by the taxi depot, chatting away with the taxi men and the local lotto vendors. He'd been waiting while his family went to a dental appointment and, as was his fashion, he'd wandered away to walk in the city and to talk to people. He could never truly sit still somewhere, a fact he ironically criticized on me. Cigarette in hand, he'd venture away into the city, into his house's patio, and he'd return later with a calm face and a quiet word. The man loved to walk, often traveling on foot to places when others would drive.

My father was a hero to me, despite the fact that he disciplined very hard. I specially bore the brunt of it, because I was the oldest girl and I "should know better." He expected a lot from me, and from all of his children, a fact that drove me to push myself hard and towards leadership. Throughout his lifetime, he remained a hero to me. He believed in me, encouraged me, reminded me of my inner strength, and celebrated my achievements. He always made sure I never lacked anything, often giving me things he himself went without. I'm glad I've been lucky enough to enjoy a father like the one my father was. During the past few days, sadly, he's lost his independence. He shall never return to the home so fervently loved and he will never walk along the streets of his city. His possessions are now left behind, left wherever he last placed them on the final day he spent at his home.

You cannot imagine the amount of tears I've shed during these last few days. As my father moves away into a nursing home, I loose the ability to call him in the mornings and chat away as long as I want. I loose the ability to write to him and send him the programs of my shows. I also loose my childhood home. Left to dust and time, it will begin to decay and its contents will begin to fade. I know this is a process we all undergo, but that doesn't make it any less painful. No matter where I'd be in the world, my house still remained in Uroyan P-33, Alturas de Mayaguez. My room remained the same, just as I'd left it before I moved away. My things would be there, and my family's things would be there. It was the epicentre of time and space, a constant within an ever changing lifetime.

I find it interesting that the rain has not stopped for days, as if the skies know how my heart and soul feel, and wish to mimic the sorrow.

Yet, within all of that rain, I find my sisters, my friends, and great opportunities. People are so kind. They meet me for brunch, buy me a coffee, listen to my fears, encourage my resolve, and alleviate my burden. This weekend, I shall enjoy a wonderful solo opportunity in the Songs of the Sea concert with the Murray Conservatorium Choir. Last night, I received notification that I'd been cast in the upcoming production of Grease. My father loved Grease, a movie we watched over and over, and he would be proud and happy to know that I am in the show. My efforts as part of the production team of Aladdin are coming together to bear fruit as the show begins to gain strength. New opportunities open new roads for me, leading me to endless possibilities.

Slowly, slivers of sunlight trickle from within the clouds of rain. I am grateful.

I Love you, Mom.

I love you, Mom.

I am proud to be your daughter. Thank you for giving me so much, for loving me just the way I am, and for kicking me whenever I needed it. Thank you for staying true to my father all of your life, for not worrying me over anything, for standing up for me whenever I needed it. Thank you for listening to my problems and never judging me, for giving me advice and never getting upset whenever I followed my own ideas, for pushing me towards better choices, for inspiring me to study and work hard. Thank you for making me a woman of integrity, for teaching me to treat others with kindness, for helping me to understand that emotions are more important than money. Thank you.

I love you, Mom.


This Mother's Day, I remember the things you will always be. You always cooked food for me, everything I wanted. Chicken, rice, and delicious plantains. You sang and danced. You sang with choirs, and loved to play music. You loved to listen to me singing. You dresses so pretty, looking so cheeky to the cameras. Coqueta, just like me. You studied hard, graduating from El Colegio, where I went to study years later. You were a woman of faith, always placing G-d before anything that could ever happen. You loved movies, watching thrillers and murder mysteries, movies I do not like but that will always remind me of you. You didn't wear make-up, a habit I am slowly growing into. You were always yourself, a trait I carry with me every day.

I'm so lucky, to have a mother like you, Mom.

I love you. Happy Mother's Day! I know you are singing, dancing, and smiling in Heaven, beautiful and free.

Happy Mother's Day !

Mother's Day. After one looses one's mother, Mother's Day can quite easily become a day full of sadness. So many other people's mothers are receiving gifts, being taken out for dinner, or showered with breakfast in bed. You can't help but want to give your own mother such attention.However, your mother is gone. She is with G-d, and no matter how many times you remind yourself that all that is gone is her physical body, you can't shake away the thought that that's the very thing you want on this day, her physical presence. The rest you know is always with you. Yes, you miss your mother so badly every day of the year, but on Mother's Day, every second you miss her becomes ten thousand more.

Today, two years after the passing of my mother, I remember and celebrate her. You see, I'm one of the lucky ones. My mother was excellent. She truly lived up to the word 'mother.' Through her example, she taught me so many things. Some of them things I am only coming to understand now. 

She loved her husband, my father, dearly. She loved him so much that, sometimes, her own wishes and desires would be put on hold so he would be happy. She gave the same love to her children. Often, she would sacrifice time, money, and her needs so that her family would smile. I know not every mother out there is like that. She taught me that true love is accompanied by a great degree of selflessness and devotion. That love is not easy and often requires gargantuan amounts of patience and forgiveness.

I can only hope I become that kind of mother.

It's Hard to say I am Sorry, but I can Do it

I apologize, from my heart. 

I know I don't always say the right thing and that my personality and my mouth gets in the way. I am truly sorry, however. For people like me, who act impulsively and from a never ending pool of excitement, it comes quite easily to hurt others along the way. I get lost in the vision, in the moment, in the electricity of creativity or ideas. Words I say might be taken as insults or dismissive comments. Gestures I make might be taken as rudeness. Behaviour might be seen as arrogance. I think and act too quickly. Or, better put, I act too quickly and forget to think. I wish G-d had made me just a tad bit slower, and a tad bit more cautious, and a heck of a lot less impulsive.

My intent never lies in hurting others. Ever.

And I am not ever afraid to say that I am sorry. In the sadness of guilt and remorse, I choose to find the happy thought that reminds me that I can say I am sorry, that I can feel that I am sorry, and that my "I'm sorry" isn't just a sweet phrase I pipe out without really feeling it. 

Happy ANZAC Day !

They went with songs to the battle, they were young. 

Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow. 

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, 

They fell with their faces to the foe. 

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. 

At the going down of the sun and in the morning, 

We will remember them. 

- Laurence Binyon, "For the Fallen"

Hero. Everyone holds their own personal definition of a hero. To me, a hero is someone who stands above the rest, who ventures into danger when everyone else is venturing away, who leads others, who serves in situations most people ignore, who dedicates his or her life to the public, often placing his or her own lives at risk or in the back burner. A hero is noble, courageous, brave, and owns a lot of self-control. A hero is human, but capable of doing or saying things most humans wouldn't be able to do or say.

Today is ANZAC Day, the day of Remembrance for the heroes of Australia and New Zealand. On this day, we celebrate the valour and sacrifice of these two countries' soldiers, honouring their memory and the results of their actions. For those of us who come from different countries, we think about our soldiers, too, as we listen to the brass melodies and wear the poppies. We think of the changes brought upon by the men and women in uniform, whether in the field of battle or on the streets of the countries where they served. We imagine their plight, and are grateful for their service, knowing deep within ourselves that, perhaps, we wouldn't have been able to act like them.

I recognize that because of the misconduct and poor example of a few soldiers, some people hold a negative view of the military. I also accept that some wars have not been fought for the best purposes, and that some wars should never have begun. However, I choose to value the acts of true heroes, and the noble purposes behind conflicts. True heroes wear the uniform with pride, help those in need, sacrifice themselves for the better good, share their supplies with the needy, help to build homes in devastated towns, and shake hands with the locals. True heroes question the reason behind their mission, ensuring their service serves justice. True heroes know when to withdraw their troops, and re-evaluate the mission. True heroes remain faithful to their wives at home and communicate with their children. True heroes rise beyond the call of duty. True heroes respect the customs of the locals, and respect their enemies. True heroes stand up against members of their corp if these are putting the uniform to shame with inhumane or insulting behaviour. True heroes speak with conviction and tenacity, but with kindness behind their words. The Great War, World War II, Viet Nam, Korea, and the Gulf War have all seen these kind of heroes... and it is them who I salute today.

Before I finish, I would like to leave you with the story of this young soldier, Sgt. Dennis Weichel (29). In 2012, Weichel died in Afghanistan as he lifted an Afghan girl who was in the path of a large military vehicle barreling down a road. The children had been picking up shell casings lying on the road. The casings are recycled for money in Afghanistan. Weichel and other soldiers in the convoy got out of their vehicles to get them out of the way of  the heavy trucks in the convoy. The children were moved out of the way, but an Afghan girl darted back onto the road to pick up some more casings that lay underneath a passing MRAP, or Mine Resistant Ambush Protected Vehicle.  The huge armored trucks can weigh as much as 16 tons and are designed to protect the troops they carry from roadside bombs. Weichel spotted the girl and quickly moved toward her to get her out of the way.  He  succeeded, but not before he was run over by the heavily armored truck.

                                                        

Sgt. Weichel didn't die in the field of combat, after hours of facing enemy fire. He died doing something some would consider insignificant. Something that shouldn't have even happened. Like him, many soldiers act without thinking for their own safety. No, not every soldier dies in the field of battle. But, like him, those soldiers that die fighting for what they believe in, who die honouring their families, countries, and who die serving justice - they are heroes. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.

Happy ANZAC Day !

Félicitations !

I am not yet married, although I would love this opportunity. My wedding would be spectacular, with many wonderful details. All of my friends would be there, and we would all enjoy an amazing time. My cake would be delicious, and my wedding gown would have a massive train. Above all, my husband and I would share our love, our dedication, and our compromise to share our lives together. We would affirm our faith in one another, and take the final step towards our lives together. We would state before the entire world that we are in love and that we shall share that love until death do us part.

A lot of us dream of our wedding since we are very young. We might keep a scrap book with pictures of wedding dresses. We might design our menu or day dream about the reception. To some of us, it is very important that our children come into an established, stable union between ourselves and our partners. To some others it is extremely important that "the ties" people bind in matrimony be "tied before G-d." These people consider matrimony an essential sacrament through which they enhance their faith, an invitation that allows G-d into every moment of their married lives.

 
Because I know that marriage is all of these things and so much more, I am very happy to receive the news that France is now allowing homosexuals the opportunity to marry. With this action, France joins Holland, Belgium, Spain, Canada, South Africa, Norway, Switzerland, Portugal, Iceland, Argentina, Denmark, Uruguay, and New Zealand in granting its citizens this freedom. Although marriage itself is not a human right, the right to be happy is. The happiness and freedom one experiences during one's wedding are undeniably some of the greatest emotions we will ever feel before we die, right along with the birth of our children, our first home, and our first, successful job. I am proud to find France, and these other countries, standing up for everyone's right to be happy.

You see, homosexuals are people, and people have the right to be free and to be happy. We all do! I know certain groups quote The Holy Bible as a source of their rationale for not allowing homosexuals to be married. I need to respect that opinion, and to respect the source. Why? Because I practice respect. However, countries are not governed by one religion or another. Christianity cannot be the basis upon which the laws that apply to all humans is based, simply because we are not all Christians. Besides, the same people who quote The Bible when it comes to homosexuals ignores the fact that slavery is also found within the Holy Book; not to mention the atrocious way women are treated in some of its pages. Above all, I find that people who quote The Bible as their excuse for not allowing homosexuals to be married, or to be happy, might have missed the point of Christianity. Jesus Christ did not preach "love some." He preached "love your neighbour." All of them. He didn't come to divide a people, but to unite them and to remind them to look towards G-d, a fact that they had forgotten. Every gesture and every story in Jesus's ministry speaks of love, forgiveness, inclusion, and human rights.

Last, but not least, marriage is a source of security. We would all love to believe that relationships end perfectly for everyone, that abuse and neglect never occur, that everything is Honky Dory until we die. This isn't so for everyone. Some spouses lack health benefits. Some spouses experience abuse. Some spouses find their mother-in-law withdrawing them out of the lives of their beloved when he or she contracts a terminal disease. If a relationship comes to an end, what decisions are made in regards to the children, the house, the money? This is when marriage steps in and grants security to both parts of a relationship. Certain laws and procedures come into place, and they guarantee that the end of the relationship benefits both people. It also guarantees certain rights in the event of terminal illness, ones that cannot be denied. For two people who are in love and who seriously consider sharing the rest of their lives together, this form of security is vital. It allows love to flourish.

I am happy France took the step to allow homosexuals the opportunity to be married. I hope during the next few months France celebrates a host of beautiful and joyous wedding celebrations. I hope the people who plan them, hold them, and photograph them enjoy them deeply. I hope the men and women who celebrate them experience unbridled bliss as they take their vows before their families, friends, and G-d. May love surround them, always.  


   

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