“The past is never dead. It's not even past”. – William Faulkner
Today, I received a publication from my French friend, Jean-Michel, commemorating the 65th anniversary of D-Day. Although the iconic Frank Capa images of Allied troops landing on the beaches will always symbolize the chaos and terror of that day to me, this magazine contained photographs I had never seen. One of the pictures shows young soldiers huddled over a downed buddy, pressing on his back, his leg, his hand, with what are surely looks of disbelief and horror on their faces. When I looked at the photo, my eye moved to the beach on which these men seemed to be trying to hold their fallen friend together. The beach was covered with stones.
When I visited the Omaha Beach several years ago, I recall my disbelief at the endless stretch of deserted sandy beach and the disconnect at what I knew had occurred there, where I stood. I was humbled by the question of how did they possibly get up the beach since there was absolutely nothing to protect them. As if he were reading my thoughts, my friend Jean Michel had quietly said to me; “at that time, the beaches were covered with pebbles, so when they landed they were able, sometimes, to dig in and find some cover.” Somehow, the thought of rocks on the beach allowed me to feel that something helped them across the beach, even if wasn’t really true.
So, 65 years ago today my father was aboard a ship that would depart from England and head towards the beaches of Normandy. He landed on Omaha Beach on D-Day +1 to the residual of what the fighting of the previous day, D-Day, had left behind. When Saving Private Ryan was released I had asked him to go to see the movie with me and he resisted. When I pushed a little more to get him to accompany me, he looked away and said “I’ve already seen it once, I don’t need too see it again”.
From the beginning of time men have gone to war, leaving country and family behind. And yet, of so many wars, this one still seems so immediate and so much a part of my psyche, even though it was fought before I was born. We are born, grow up, live our lives, and even now, grow old, within the shadow of this war that ended before our own lives began.
I commemorate and honor the troops who landed at Normandy, Omaha, Utah, Juno, Gold, Sword and all of the men and women who fought and served in this war, so distant and so present. I can only wish that they could know that their achievements and sacrifices are as celebrated and important today as they were 65 years ago. Thank you, Dad.
When I visited the Omaha Beach several years ago, I recall my disbelief at the endless stretch of deserted sandy beach and the disconnect at what I knew had occurred there, where I stood. I was humbled by the question of how did they possibly get up the beach since there was absolutely nothing to protect them. As if he were reading my thoughts, my friend Jean Michel had quietly said to me; “at that time, the beaches were covered with pebbles, so when they landed they were able, sometimes, to dig in and find some cover.” Somehow, the thought of rocks on the beach allowed me to feel that something helped them across the beach, even if wasn’t really true.
So, 65 years ago today my father was aboard a ship that would depart from England and head towards the beaches of Normandy. He landed on Omaha Beach on D-Day +1 to the residual of what the fighting of the previous day, D-Day, had left behind. When Saving Private Ryan was released I had asked him to go to see the movie with me and he resisted. When I pushed a little more to get him to accompany me, he looked away and said “I’ve already seen it once, I don’t need too see it again”.
From the beginning of time men have gone to war, leaving country and family behind. And yet, of so many wars, this one still seems so immediate and so much a part of my psyche, even though it was fought before I was born. We are born, grow up, live our lives, and even now, grow old, within the shadow of this war that ended before our own lives began.
I commemorate and honor the troops who landed at Normandy, Omaha, Utah, Juno, Gold, Sword and all of the men and women who fought and served in this war, so distant and so present. I can only wish that they could know that their achievements and sacrifices are as celebrated and important today as they were 65 years ago. Thank you, Dad.
Labels: D-Day, D-Day 65th, Normandy, Omaha Beach
posted by Ilene at 4:33 PM
1 Comments:
So beautifully written .........I too honor all our fathers whom served. my father was an infantry man whom never spoke of the war. He lost his leg and his older brother in the war. He suffered from terrible nightmares and alcoholism his whole life. He died of lung cancer in 1990. He was 67. A wonderful father and provider despite his demons!
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