Last weekend, Georges and I had the honor of visiting the American Cemetery just off "Omaha Beach" near Colville-sur-Mer in Normandy. It was a dreary, rainy afternoon, but we didn't care... in some ways, it seemed more fitting that the sun wasn't shining. The weather was a better match for the somber, quiet mood of this sacred place. Although the men in my family were either too old or too young to have fought in WWII, as an American I have wanted to visit this part of France for some time, and was so glad we got the chance to come here while visiting one of Georges' friends in Caen (merci, Gilbert & Valerie!)
Looking out over the cemetery from the steps of the memorial.
You're on American soil here.
Omaha Beach. So calm, so serene. Now... picture the opening scenes of Saving Private Ryan (warning: violent film footage, so don't click if you don't want to see it).
Even when we were driving to the site through peaceful fields with cows and wheat, I could imagine how different things were 65 years ago for the French as well as for the troops who were landing and trying to survive.
It didn't look like this back then. I would have been terrified if I'd been standing here, looking out at what was happening down there on the beaches and in the water. Of course, there was an air assault and soldiers parachuting in as well. I can't even imagine the fear, no matter what "side" of it you were on: locals, occupiers or invaders.
After looking around at the memorial and viewing the beach from the top of the hill (the weather was too bad for us to go down there, we unfortunately weren't dressed for it), we turned toward the cemetery itself to wander through the thousands of grave markers.
And the first one I saw happened to be a young man from my home state of New Jersey.
Walking through all the grave markers was an experience I will never forget. Looking at the names and where they were from, you realize that each of them had a family, a story, people who loved them and mourned them.
Sadly, not all of those buried here could be identified.
There were a number of markers like this, and just behind the memorial there is a curved wall with the names of all those (several hundred), who were unidentified or missing but assumed killed in action.
There came a moment (or two) after we'd walked among the pristine lawn for a while, when I just burst into tears. The magnitude of the human sacrifice just overwhelmed me... as did the thought that, had those young men NOT made that sacrifice, Georges and I most likely wouldn't have been able to be there together, arms around each other -- a FREE Frenchman and his American wife.
So in the end, as we slowly walked out of the cemetery towards the Visitor's Center, all I could do was send my silent "Thank You" to each and every one of them.
More photos to come... or you can skip ahead by viewing the entire set on Flickr.
