12/01/2025
I met a World War II veteran during my medical rotation at Auckland Hospital in 1998. I cannot remember his name, but he must have been in his 70s at the time. He was one of thousands of Canadian soldiers who had landed on Juno Beach during the D-Day invasion of Normandy on June 6, 1944. Even as an old man, there was a quiet strength about him—a resilience honed through unimaginable experiences.
One afternoon, we spoke at length, and at some point, I asked him about the most painful things he had ever endured. I expected him to recount stories of war—perhaps about the physical wounds he bore or the horrors he had seen. He smiled faintly, as if he had been asked this question before, and said, “There are two pains a man can feel that are the worst in this world. And I’ve had them both.”
He leaned back slightly, as if revisiting the moment. “The first was in Normandy,” he began. “I was storming the beach when a bullet shattered my knee and dropped me right there in the sand. I was completely helpless, just lying there as chaos raged around me. The pain… well, it’s unlike anything I can describe. Sharp, searing, unrelenting. It felt like my entire leg was on fire.”
His eyes narrowing as the memory settled in. “But you know,” he added, “it was temporary. The medics got to me, patched me up, and with time, I healed.”
He paused then, his voice growing softer. “The second pain… was when my wife died.” His gaze shifted, distant now, as though he could still see her. “When she passed, it felt like my soul was torn in two. The kneecap, that healed. But losing her? That pain doesn’t go away—it just changes shape. It becomes part of you.”
His words stayed with me. Here was a man who had faced the brutalities of war, yet his deepest scar wasn’t physical—it was the loss of the person he loved most. It was a reminder that pain comes in many forms, and some wounds, no matter how invisible, leave a mark forever.
That day, he taught me a lesson far beyond medicine: that the strength of the human spirit lies not in avoiding pain, but in surviving it, in honoring those we’ve lost, and in carrying their memory forward.
