For most of my life, Remembrance Day meant a poppy on my jacket and a moment of silence. I understood the importance of honouring those who served, but I didn’t really grasp the depth of what that meant until I joined a military family.

My husband grew up on bases across Canada, living in (almost) every province with a three-year stint in Europe during his teen years before finally settling in Ottawa. His father served for more than 40 years in the Canadian Armed Forces, commanding tanks, moving from posting to posting, and supporting his family along the way. My husband tried (twice) to enlist, but a bad back prevented him from following in those same footsteps as most of the men in his family. Still, each Nov. 11, he took the morning off work to attend ceremonies. For him, remembrance wasn’t symbolic; it was personal, intensely important, and a necessary display of respect for the service men and women of the past, present, and future.

But it wasn’t until I attended my father-in-law’s retirement, aptly referred to in the military as a Departure with Dignity, that I began to understand the full meaning of service. The ceremony was full of tradition, peppered with deep camaraderie from the families he served alongside. They spoke of his years of dedication, his leadership, and the many moves that shaped a lifetime of commitment. But what surprised me most was that they honoured my mother-in-law’s service to the same degree.

They thanked her for every sacrifice made in silence. For putting aside her own career aspirations to relocate every few years, for rebuilding new homes and communities each time, and for holding down the fort through long deployments and endless transitions. They recognized her service as inseparable from his.

At the time, I was struck by how unusual it felt to see someone thanked for love, patience, and endurance instead of medals or missions. But upon reflection it makes perfect sense. Service doesn’t exist in isolation. It ripples through families, through spouses who keep the home steady, and through children who adapt to every new base and school, perpetually the “new kid” in class.

This November, as we take our moments of silence, I’ll be thinking not only of those who fought and fell, but of the quiet strength of those who stood beside them. The ones who moved, waited, and carried on — often unseen, but never unimportant.

Because remembrance isn’t only about looking back on battles. It’s about respecting the many forms of service that have shaped our country, including those who serve, simply by loving someone who does.