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In the early part of 1999, my sister Dolly and my brother-in-law,
Gerald, asked me to take them to Europe to visit the places where
I had been during the war. They wanted to do this to celebrate
their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Since I had already made
eight previous trips to Europe, this posed no problem.
During the time of making our plans, I spoke with a good friend
of mine, Greg Heilman, who is an avid student of history, telling
him of our plans. Greg has a dear aunt, Betty Thompson, whom
I had met several years earlier. Betty Thompson had lost her
young husband on Omaha Beach on D-Day. It was decided that during
our stay in Normandy, we would visit the grave of that young
husband, Donald Weisel.
In the fall of 1999, we flew to Brussels, and then drove to the
Ardennes, the scene of the Battle of the Bulge, and visited various
places there and also visited with my very dear Belgian friends.
As I had done on previous visits, we also drove to the Henri-Chapelle
Cemetery where, of all the cemeteries, most of my friends and
comrades from our unit are buried. We then drove to Germany to
visit some equally beloved German friends.
We drove from Germany to Normandy, to Bayeux and stayed in an
old Norman manor owned by a retired British Colonel and his wife.
I had stayed there on a previous visit to Normandy. We stopped
in Bayeux at a floral shop where I purchased a single red rose
to place on the grave of Donald Weisel, thinking that would be
more eloquent. From there we drove to the Normandy Cemetery.
We were very fortunate in having a very vivacious and articulate
young French lady as our guide. Because of the size of the cemetery,
she drove us to the grave site in her car. She had with her two
flags, a small American flag and also a small French flag, along
with a Polaroid camera.
As we stood and knelt by the grave of Donald Weisel, she placed
the flags beside the cross and I laid that solitary rose on his
grave. The young lady then took a photograph of that scene for
the next of kin, Betty Thompson, which is a custom that the cemetery
officials observe. The young lady then proceeded to give us some
information about the cemetery, some of which I had known, but
some information I had not heard before. I knew that there were
over 9,000 young Americans buried there, but I was shocked when
she told us that there were 38 sets of brothers buried there,
and there are 33 sets of brothers buried side by side. That really
cut me to the quick because my own dear wife lost two young brothers
in that war; one with the First Division in North Africa, and
the other on a destroyer off of Okinawa. The forward gun turret
in which he was serving was struck directly by a Kamikaze, and
there was nothing of him ever recovered, even for burial.
As we were leaving that cemetery, as usual, after I walk between
all of those crosses, I struggle with so many emotions. I thought
of those 9,000 crosses, and then I thought of all of the blessings
I have enjoyed. I remembered that the cemetery in Normandy should
be my present address. I thought of how God had blessed me with
over 55 additional years of life and how He had blessed me with
a lovely wife, three handsome children and eight wonderful grandchildren.
I then multiplied 9,000 crosses times 50 years and came to the
staggering sum of 450,000 unlived years represented by those
crosses. 450,000 unlived years with all of the incredible potential
of each life and each year. What a staggering thought!
There was something else that truly puzzled me and that was the
question of why of all the cemeteries that I had visited, especially
the Henri-Chapelle Cemetery, did my visit to the Normandy Cemetery
evoke such a strong emotional response? After much thought, something
occurred to me: the cemetery at Henri-Chapelle lies in a setting
of almost perfect peace and tranquillity. It seems as though
even the birds whisper when they fly overhead. But not Normandy.
I concluded that the great difference is the waves, the sound
of those waves, the unrelenting sound of those waves as they
wash ashore at Omaha Beach.
I thought of the young man whose grave we had just visited and
then I thought of my own life in comparison, with all of the
many. many blessings that have accrued to me over these more
than fifty-five additional years. It was then that those waves
seemed to have a very stern and a very severe and profound personal
message to me; a stern reminder and a very severe warning for
me to never, ever forget the magnitude of the sacrifice that
young man made.
It then seemed that each wave as it moved toward the shore, still
carried with it all of the horror and all of the terror of the
last few moments of that young man's life, and each wave had
the sound of a bell tolling out another and another and another
of his unlived years. And each succeeding wave carried the painful
reminder that the young man buried up there on that bluff overlooking
Omaha Beach, unlike me, would never ever know the fathomless
pride of fathering a precious son or daughter. And each succeeding
wave was a reaffirming reminder that the young man buried up
there beneath that gleaming, white marble cross, unlike me, would
never achieve the blessings of old age, and unlike me, he would
never, ever enjoy the profound experience of just holding and
hugging and kissing a beloved grandson or granddaughter.
And then I saw a wave, and borne on its crest were the scattered
petals of a crushed rose -- the painful, painful remembrance
of the anguish of that wounded and broken heart of the young,
loving wife that would never mend. And as those waves came sweeping
in toward that shore, they each gently and reverently kissed
the sands of that beach, because those waves were in reality
the tears of a nation weeping for its young. And the unrelenting
sound of those waves is God's eternal reminder of the enormity
of the price that was paid for our freedom and for my freedom
and privilege to stand here. And in standing here, I would like
to cry out to all of those dear young men, "Yes, you were
robbed, indeed, you were robbed of the most sublime gift that
we possess; you were robbed of your very lives; but, dear young
men, we too were robbed; we were robbed of you; and we were robbed
of your love; and we were robbed of your dreams and your hopes
and your aspirations."
"And yes, dear young men, we were also robbed of those
thousands of precious sons and daughters that you never had the
privilege to father, and who would have borne the very image
of your greatness. And we were also robbed of those thousands
of beloved grandsons and granddaughters who would never know
the magnitude of your sacrifice. Yes, we were all robbed by that
terrible, insidious thief called war."
All I can say to Betty Thompson and to my own dear wife, who
have suffered such terrible loss, is simply to repeat the words
to the anthem for which those young men died: "America,
America, God shed his grace on thee, and crown thy good with
brotherhood from sea to shining sea."
END.
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