My grandfather Robert (Bert) McCreath died peacefully in Saskatoon on March 18, 2011. He is among the cohort approaching one million Canadians (of the 1.1 million) that proudly served their country in the Second World War and have passed away.

Like those veterans who died before him, Grandpa’s life involved so much more than his concise obituary. The servicemen and women who returned home starting in 1945 fashioned deep roots across Canada building the social, structural and moral foundation of their communities and this country.

In my grandfather’s case, he and wife Nancy moved their family from Calgary to Saskatoon, where they raised three children. For 30 years, Grandpa was manager of Saskatoon’s Pittsburgh Plate Glass Company, where he installed the windows in many city landmarks including the Mendel Art Gallery, the University of Saskatchewan Hospital, the Arts Building and the stained glass windows in Saskatoon’s finest churches and cathedrals, including St. Joseph’s and St. Paul’s. Grandpa also took up the social cause through his involvement in the Saskatoon Art Council (now the Mendel Art Gallery), Kinsmen and Rotary.

The three children – Murdine, Scott and Nancy – all graduated from the University of Saskatchewan, fulfilling an educational dream that their parents couldn’t realize during the war and the years that followed. The next generation of six grandchildren – of which I am one – are now spread across North America with a collective eight university degrees and the industry and intelligence to further professional and social endeavours.

Grandpa taught the grandkids many lessons on the golf course, in the garden and at the dinner table. The subtle messages had the purpose and precision of a military man, but never involved stories from war’s theatre. So many others had furthered the same cause that respectfully and humbly, there was nothing special to share. Regrettably, I never asked our grandfather about the war.

When Grandpa was slowed by a stroke in the spring of 2010, the opportunity to ask him was lost, so I took solace in books profiling the extraordinary lives of Second World War veterans. In The Greatest Generation, American journalist Tom Brokaw concluded that those who served “faced great odds and a late start, but they did not protest. At a time in their lives when their days and nights should have been filled with innocent adventure, love, and the lessons of the workday world, they were fighting, often hand to hand, in the most primitive conditions possible.”

On Tuesday, June 6, 1944, when D-Day came to a close, the Canadian effort had pushed further into enemy territory than any other Allied army. There would be another 11 months of combat, but the Allied forces ultimately fought off radical ideals and repressive regimes.

When the veterans returned home they rolled up their sleeves again; this time building the core of today’s way of life. It is this resolve – in war and at home – that Brokaw believes created “the greatest generation any society has ever produced.”

Grandpa was 92 when he passed away; I am 32 years old. He knew me for only a third of his living days. It’s been a lifetime for me.