A decade ago, June of 2013, I walked the beaches of Normandy. Some quick reservation efforts of my husband's took us to this sacred spot where World War II changed the worlds path.
Today, it is 79 years since that fateful beach invasion. It has been documented in journals, newspapers, books, and movies. Yet, not until I stood on its windy shore did, I feel the awe of the undertaking. Nor the awe of the opposition. To walk the bunkers and look at the small slats, realizing how little the Germans could see, and yet from their vantage point how much power they held.
We spent the night in the town of Bayeux. The very first town fully liberated. It's a quaint provincial town. Nothing like you imagine in war, but it was their streets that held the path to move forward.
My husband and I wandered every nook and cranny we could find. From Saint Lo to the German and U S Cemeteries. Every step hearing the echo of the battle for life. For opportunity. For safety. For us. We are here today because of them. Had Hitler succeeded it would be a much different world. One we gratefully never have to imagine.
At this writing, June 6, 2023, is coming to a close. With it one more year when it slips our minds. Those who fought and lived, are swiftly passing. The countries torn by it have rebuilt and shadows faded. The storytellers of those days are too aged to talk or we are to busy too hear. Whatever the present case may be, June 6, 1944, will be a day of its own infamy. And if Normandy has its way, a day never to be forgotten.