Thank you, grandpa.

Today, in Canada, is Remembrance Day. It's a time to reflect on the sacrifices that so many people have made in the name of freedom. For me, it's a time to remember my grandfather.

He was born and raised in the southern part of Sweden. He and one of his brothers left home at an early age to move to Canada. When they got here, they worked out west as farmhands and doing other handiwork. It was simple, honest work.

When the war came, my grandfather joined the Canadian army and was stationed in several places before ultimately landing in Hong Kong. At the time of his capture, he was injured and in the hospital. The Japanese took the region and all the enemies in their territory became prisoners of war, including my grandfather. He lived through it, although his mistreatment and malnourishment would affect his health for the rest of his life.

I know next to nothing about my grandfather's experience. He never talked about them to me or my father. He would meet up regularly with other Hong Kong vets because only they could understand what he went through. He didn't tell us what horrible experiences he wen through because he did all that so that we would never have to.

It's not as though he never thought about it, he had numerous books and videos on the topic. But he never discussed it with family. I tried to read one of the books he left behind that was specifically on the experiences of Hong Kong (Long Night's Journey Into the Day) and I haven't been able to get past more than 50 pages of it. It's heartbreaking, full of diary entries and recollections from people who did and didn't make it through. It's hard to fathom that my own grandfather must have gone through those same things.

What I have left from his times as a POW is a photo taken in Hong Kong just after they were released. My grandfather, a tall and skinny man, looks absolutely gaunt. My father has his discharge papers from the army with only a few notes as to what his experiences had been like, in typical government paperwork form. And I have a Nazi belt buckle, complete with swastika. I don't know how he got it, if it was during the war or through trading with his army buddies afterwards.

But it's physical evidence that I can hold that proves to me that all this happened. And that war happened for a reason. Even if we can't agree with any of the wars that are happening in the world right now, we can be thankful that there are people out there who are willing to risk their lives for the hope of something better for the rest of us.

When my grandfather passed away, several vets came to the funeral. When his urn was lowered, they took the poppies from their lapels and threw them into his grave. I broke down crying. And I still tear-up every time I see poppies.