ANZAC day

There's something about ANZAC day. I'm always a mess. When I was in the UK it was a little less emotional, but regardless I always manage to cry on ANZAC day.
I mean it's not as though I actually have a close relation or ancestor who died in war. They all managed to come home and expire of something quite different. I guess I grieve for those who didn't.
Anyways, to my Great Uncle Les Knight, who fought in WW1 in Egypt and was wounded during the last great cavalry charge in history. Got home safe, took tablets to combat the lead in his system until he was jack of it at the age of 84, refused to take more, arranged his own funeral, then gently dropped off the twig.
To Uncle Bruce Kerr, a veteran of the Kokoda Track. Returned home safely. Lived until two years ago, died peacefully at home.
To Grandfather David Bruce Kerr who served in WW1, came home and died of chronic nephritis at the age of 40 in 1933. Womaniser and rogue, I wish I had known you.
To Grandad Russell Davies, served in WW2. Never saw active service, never got to march. Bless you for serving in a foreign country you called home. Died of old age.
To all those who died in war, I grieve.
Bless you and rest in peace.