My Story in Lists|Places I've Been

One of the places that I've been to that stirred me the most was Normandy, France. To understand the importance requires me to back up in time to my childhood. My grandmother was the oldest of seven children and she was close to her sisters and they loved nothing more than getting together and eating out talking in a mixture of English and Spanish at a rapid pace. We were in an era where children were seen and not heard so we would eat quietly, listening to the chatter and trying to understand everything that was being said.

Around the age of six, I began to understand through their conversations that my grandmother had a younger brother who fought in the war and tragically never came back. Grandma and her sisters would talk about how some friend had gone to France and thought she saw Richard, their brother. It was clear that they believed he had not died, but instead had become wounded and as a result had amnesia. It was apparent by their words and by the way their conversation would become hushed and subdued that there was a sadness there that time had not erased. He was the youngest of the children and I could tell that he was very much loved by his older sisters. Even at my young age, I found the whole story mysteriously fascinating.

So I was surprised just four years ago as I was talking to my dad about my brother's impending honeymoon to Paris when dad made a comment that Vic should go to Normandy and visit the American National Cemetery where his Uncle Richard was buried. How was that possible, I always thought he was missing in action, I replied, sure that my dad had it wrong. No, dad told me, his Uncle Richard had been killed in action during the invasion of Normandy. While Vic and his bride, Sharonda, made it to Paris, they never took the side trip to Normandy and I was left with some doubt as to whether my dad knew what he talking about.

France had not been a country in which we traveled to when we returned from Iran. Even though dad took French in high school, he had heard that the French were exceedingly rude, especially to Americans and as a result never had a desire to go. Being the obedient daughter, I adopted his mindset and never had a desire to go to France either. Until I saw the honeymoon pictures that Vic and Sharonda took. I wanted to step right into their photographs, never to return so when Brie told me that she wanted to go for her 16th birthday, I was in complete agreement. After I was diagnosed with cancer, she told me she wanted to go sooner rather than later, again, I agreed. If anyone was going to take Brie to Paris, it was going to be me. I also knew without a doubt that I was going to make the side trip to Normandy.

Coincidentally, sometime after we started talking about making the trip, my cousin Eddie sent me a link to the location of our great Uncle's burial site at the American National Cemetery. I looked up the information and saw that he was killed two days after the invasion. Even though I never knew him, I felt a terrible sadness. His life was cut so short that even though he had married before he shipped out, he never had any children.

Seven days after we arrived in Paris, we headed back to the airport to pick up a rental car and begin our trip to Normandy. I was more nervous than I wanted to admit to Brie, my best friend, Liz and Brie's best friend Megan. I knew once we left the city, I would be okay driving, but I did not want to find myself anywhere on the streets within the city limits. The French are crazy drivers and my eye sight at the time was poor from cataracts. I don't know what I was expecting because I didn't even have directions to Bayeaux the French city at which we would be staying.

Armed with a map, I made Liz the navigator with strict instructions....get us out into the countryside without the need to turn around until we pass the city. My heart was pounding. Somehow we managed to get on the right track, but it took a while to understand the map and the numbering system of the highways. The compact car I had rented didn't have enough room for more than one bag but luckily the rental agency gave us a free upgrade (that is a story within itself). Luckily France roads are filled with roundabouts so we would just circle around and around them, looking for arrows containing names of the cities we knew were in route and after several hours we found ourselves in Bayeaux.

We had made our way to the city, now we had to find the B&B I had reserved. I mistakenly thought Bayeaux would be a small little town where all we would have to do was ask some local where our hotel was and they would point the way for us. It was a small town, but not that small. It was a beautiful town and I fell in love with it immediately. We eventually found our B&B and the girls collapsed in their room for a nap, while Liz and I took off on foot for the town center. I felt like a kid in a candy shop. So much history, it was like stepping back into the 1940's. We walked the streets for hours until it was time to get the girls so we could go to dinner.

The next morning we got up early to head to the American National Cemetery. We had picked up some more maps at the town's visitor center the afternoon before and I was feeling pretty confident. We arrived there without any trouble. I had read that if you were visiting a family member's site that you should check in at the visitor center so we started there. The visitor guides were so kind and treated me with much more respect than I felt I deserved. I explained that it was my great Uncle and that my dad wanted us to come. Unbeknownst to me, Dad had asked Brie to make an etching of his grave marker. She had a mission of her own on this trip.

We were taken in a little cart to my Uncle's site. The guide had brought a bucket of sand which she used to fill in the engraved name. This they did so the name would stand out for pictures and for others to know that someone came to visit this site. She also brought an American and French flag which she planted at his cross for us to take pictures and told me we could take those and some sand back home with us if we would like. 

What moved me the most was the peacefulness that surrounded the area. There was the slight wind blowing so the trees were rustling and the songs of birds filled the air. On top of that was the fragrance of flowers and the sea.  It was so hard to imagine that this place was once the scene of one of the most ferocious modern day battles and that so many men gave their life so long ago. 

The only thing I could think was perhaps if they knew that years later this place would be so lovely, so peaceful that maybe they would be glad. Perhaps if they knew that because of their efforts, the tyrannical reign of Hitler came to an end. It was not for naught. I was proud of not just my uncle but of all the men who were brave enough to sacrifice their lives, regardless of whether they came back or not.

I went to bed that night dreaming of my Uncle, a man I never knew, but wished then more than ever that I had. I wished I would have brought my grandmother here when she was still alive. I wished I could have come with my dad. I hoped that it would have made a difference to him that although it had been more than 60 years since he had given his life, he had not been forgotten.