My father was an officer in the Canadian army for 26 years, joining up fresh out of university.

His first command as a young Lieutenant was on the front lines of the Korean War.

Although not wounded physically, he returned home with malaria, white hair (at age 26; it had been dark brown when he left) and an addiction to alcohol.

Never did he speak of his wartime experiences and refused to answer questions about them.

He had horrible nightmares on a regular basis and I believe he suffered from PTSD, although it wasn’t recognized at the time.

We weren’t all that close when I was younger, but developed more of a bond in later years. In 1987, at age 60, he was injured in a car accident and quit drinking.

Following his death in 2011, I discovered a treasure trove of photos and other memorabilia from his military career, now proudly displayed in my home. Thank you for your service, Pops. I miss you!