Normandy

This past Thursday through Saturday we rented a couple of cars and drove to northern France with Burke's classmates.  Driving in Paris was insane, but we made it out alive and within a few miles we were surrounded by green countryside, fields and forests.  All of that rain sure makes me a lush and scenic drive.  

We drove first to Normandy, the location of "D Day" and the invasion on France during World War II by the Allied countries of America, Canada and Great Britain on June 6, 1944.  At the visitors center we began by watching a film that had accounts of several individuals who lost their lives on Omaha Beach, as well as the significance that day had on changing the outcome of the war.  The displays and timeline throughout the rest of the visitors center were very well done, describing the magnitude of the operation and the immense sacrifices that were made because of it.

Some of you might remember the story of the Niland brothers that became the basis of the film Saving Private Ryan.  In a period of just a few days, a widowed Mrs. Niland received word that two of her sons had died at Normandy, while a third was missing in the Pacific.  The youngest son, Fredrick, was rescued and sent home to his grieving mother.  This plaque honored their sacrifice and I was overwhelmed by similar loses reported, especially one small town in Virginia that lost 18 young men that day. 

With these heavy thoughts, we followed the path outside and down a surprisingly steep terrain to Omaha Beach.  It was sobering to think of the estimated 100,000 soldiers who lost their lives on these beaches and the carnage that would have littered these shores nearly seventy years ago. I stood behind my Burkie, so deep in thought as he looked out at those frigid waters, and felt so incredibly grateful that he has never had to experience the dangers of war.  I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for the brave men and women who fought not only to keep our country free and safe, but also to liberate a people they didn't even know.  I had not realized that France had been controlled by the Nazis for 4 years at this point and it was the selfless sacrifice of thousands who finally liberated them and the rest of the European, African and Asian countries from the ruthless control of the Axis powers.

When we hiked back up the hill and entered the grounds of the American Cemetery, I wept at the sight of row upon endless row of brilliant white crosses.  As I stared down the line, I imagined what this would have looked like if in place of each cross there instead stood a young man straight and proud in his military uniform.  Such a tremendous loss! I ached for them and also those that they left behind.  It was a sacred feeling to stand on their burial grounds and bask in the peace and reverence of that cemetery.  I hope I never forget that feeling.