As much as I have wanted to be, I have never been a morning person.
They say the older you get, the less sleep you need and therefore the earlier you rise.
For me, it seems to be the opposite.
I need as much sleep as I can get and it takes at least an hour (and one strong coffee) before I start functioning more like a human being and less like a morose zombie.
I think it’s stemmed from the countless sleepless nights I had as a new mum with the world’s most irritable baby.
I don’t remember much of the first few months of being a first-time Mum, I was so tired.
I spent most of it in a dream-like stupor. And when I actually made it to bed, I just lay there in a sleepless trance, anticipating my little one’s cries at any moment.
It’s a known fact that lack of sleep is so debilitating it is used as an effective form of torture.
I guess my morning sleep-ins are my body’s way of catching up on the countless months of shut-eye I so desperately needed all those years ago.
So, for me to roll out of bed at 5.45am, it must be serious.
And it was. It was Saturday and Anzac Day.
It’s the one day of the year, I put respect and righteousness before fatigue and indolence.
The tens of thousands of soldiers who fought and died for our freedom didn’t have the luxury of a full night’s sleep in a warm and comfortable bed.
They didn’t wake up in the safety of their own homes awaiting a day full of hope and possibility.
Many woke up to the sound of gunfire, explosions and bloodshed.
Their nightmares weren’t dreams they could wake from. They were living it every day.
Every day was another chance to be killed or worse. Captured and tortured to death.
Imagine living with that kind of terror inside you, day in day out.
When they lay their heads down at the end of the day, longing for the relief only slumber could bring, they weren’t even sure they would wake up.
Anzac Day is one day of 365 where we pay tribute to those who put themselves on the line for us.
Those who fought on the battlefield, the nurses and doctors who cared for them, the prisoners of war, the ones who never saw the fighting and those who never came home.
Anzac Day is our chance to honour these heroes who put their country ahead of their lives, their family and their dreams.
The least we can do is wake up slightly early to pay our respects to those who put their lives in danger to ensure we had the freedom and possibilities to live out our lives.
Standing at the end of my driveway with my sleepy girls by my side at dawn on Saturday was a poignant moment. And well worth the early start.
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