Around this time of year

I try to imagine being a soldier.

Around every Remembrance Day I read stories about battles from the wars. I carefully digest the sentences.

I try to imagine the muck and crumbling buildings.
I try to imagine having wet feet for so long the skin starts to peel away from bone.
I try to imagine the sound of shells clapping around my head or mortar tearing through flesh.
I try to imagine what it’s like to lose my friends.

Then I realize, as hard as I try, I can’t imagine. I could never imagine.

Because someone went to Europe and did all that for us.

Around every Remembrance Day I wonder if I’d be a good solider, and every year I’m thankful I’ll never have to find out.