Sunday was the 144th time a Canadian soldier’s body has been brought down the Highway of Heroes from CFB Trenton to the coroner’s office in Toronto.
Sunday was the first time I have ever seen the brigade.
It hit me harder than I ever imagined and put my life’s problems and frustrations in complete perspective.
The Highway of Heroes, for those who don’t know, is a section of Highway 401, which was given its name after citizens just started filling the highway’s overpasses to pay tribute when a Canadian soldier who had been killed in Afghanistan returned home.
I always said I wanted to do it. Just to see what it’s like when the hearse passes underneath. What does the crowd do? What is the mood on the bridge? Why do the people keep coming back? When will this touching tribute end?
When journalist Michelle Lang was killed in Afghanistan in December, I wanted to head up to the coroner’s office in Toronto to be one of the people who lined the street there to pay my respects. I felt as a fellow journalist I owed her at least that much. Timing did not work out for me since I was working that weekend.
Early Sunday afternoon, I heard 24-year-old Kevin McKay’s body was coming home later that afternoon. Again, I echoed my sentiments that one day I would make it to the Highway of Heroes. Or at least to the coroner’s office.
Instead, I was heading home when my traffic was stopped merging from Mt. Pleasant Road to Jarvis St. at Bloor St. I knew why instantly. As the lights changed from red to green and back to red again — we sat there.
Two police motorcycles went by and I turned off my radio.
After the light changed back to green and returned to red once more, I put my car in park, and turned it off as a sign of respect. I realized then that everyone around me must have known what was going on as well — as there was no angry honking, no swearing, no shaking of angry fists. It was quiet.
And as the police officer who stopped us threw his hand up to salute as the first car in the motorcade passed us, I began to cry.
I was sobbing by the time the hearse went by.
There are no words for seeing something like this. It is not like any other funeral motorcade (though those make me misty-eyed when they pass me too). There is something different knowing that there is a young soldier’s body in that hearse. A soldier who died so far away from home, fighting in a war that many do not completely support.
It wasn’t as cool or as interesting as I thought. And instead of my inquisitive reporter side coming out, my human side did.
I don’t know now if I could stand on a bridge and wave to the motorcade when the 145st soldier dies over there. But I sure wish another member of our armed forces will not come home in a casket before our troops come home for good.
But I know that’s just a pipe dream.
(Photo of a crowd on the Highway of Heroes from 2008 courtesy of Kaetidh on Flickr. You can find more of her photos here).
Saying farewell to soldiers killed in Afghanistan
Sunday was the 144th time a Canadian soldier’s body has been brought down the Highway of Heroes from CFB Trenton to the coroner’s office in Toronto.
Sunday was the first time I have ever seen the brigade.
It hit me harder than I ever imagined and put my life’s problems and frustrations in complete perspective.
The Highway of Heroes, for those who don’t know, is a section of Highway 401, which was given its name after citizens just started filling the highway’s overpasses to pay tribute when a Canadian soldier who had been killed in Afghanistan returned home.
I always said I wanted to do it. Just to see what it’s like when the hearse passes underneath. What does the crowd do? What is the mood on the bridge? Why do the people keep coming back? When will this touching tribute end?
When journalist Michelle Lang was killed in Afghanistan in December, I wanted to head up to the coroner’s office in Toronto to be one of the people who lined the street there to pay my respects. I felt as a fellow journalist I owed her at least that much. Timing did not work out for me since I was working that weekend.
Early Sunday afternoon, I heard 24-year-old Kevin McKay’s body was coming home later that afternoon. Again, I echoed my sentiments that one day I would make it to the Highway of Heroes. Or at least to the coroner’s office.
Instead, I was heading home when my traffic was stopped merging from Mt. Pleasant Road to Jarvis St. at Bloor St. I knew why instantly. As the lights changed from red to green and back to red again — we sat there.
Two police motorcycles went by and I turned off my radio.
After the light changed back to green and returned to red once more, I put my car in park, and turned it off as a sign of respect. I realized then that everyone around me must have known what was going on as well — as there was no angry honking, no swearing, no shaking of angry fists. It was quiet.
And as the police officer who stopped us threw his hand up to salute as the first car in the motorcade passed us, I began to cry.
I was sobbing by the time the hearse went by.
There are no words for seeing something like this. It is not like any other funeral motorcade (though those make me misty-eyed when they pass me too). There is something different knowing that there is a young soldier’s body in that hearse. A soldier who died so far away from home, fighting in a war that many do not completely support.
It wasn’t as cool or as interesting as I thought. And instead of my inquisitive reporter side coming out, my human side did.
I don’t know now if I could stand on a bridge and wave to the motorcade when the 145st soldier dies over there. But I sure wish another member of our armed forces will not come home in a casket before our troops come home for good.
But I know that’s just a pipe dream.
(Photo of a crowd on the Highway of Heroes from 2008 courtesy of Kaetidh on Flickr. You can find more of her photos here).