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Neal Guyer of Thomaston is semi-retired from a career in public education administration.
Recently, my dear wife and I were privileged to visit the Normandy region of France. During this special time, we were accompanied by our son, daughter-in-law and our two granddaughters, ages 5 and 9.
It’s difficult to contemplate a time when this richly beautiful French countryside was ravaged by the horrors of war, but the obvious scars remain, continuing to be overtaken by the slow, yet restorative powers of nature. Former gun turrets are being transformed into sunken wildflower gardens, crumbling cliff bunkers host nesting seabirds.
During our stay we were honored to be able to visit the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial in Colleville-sur-Mer. Our first purpose was to visit the grave of an uncle that I never knew. His name was Glenn. He died in battle in the liberation of France in August 1944. He was 23 years old.
Arriving at the cemetery’s welcome center, we inquired about my uncle’s headstone location. Upon learning that we were family members, we were offered an attendant to escort us to the grave site. We accepted this gracious offer, and in light rain showers, we were accompanied by our French host to Section A where Glenn’s white marble headstone was located.
Our attendant brought with him a small pail that he explained contained moist sand from Omaha Beach and with the eager help of our granddaughters, they rubbed the sand into the relief letters of the headstone carvings — accenting Glenn’s name and service details in the golden glow of the applied sand against the white marble.
A thankful, formal tribute to Glenn’s heroism and sacrifice was read out in the name of the grateful citizens of France. We were presented with a resume of Glenn’s service and a photograph of him in his flight gear. Our granddaughters placed American and French flags at the base of Glenn’s headstone. During the quiet moments of silent contemplation that followed, the sun broke through the clouds while our 5-year-old granddaughter picked small yellow daisies from the lush, green grass.
Standing amidst the vast array of 9,387 gleaming white, sun-soaked headstones against a backdrop of spring green and vivid ocean blue was truly a humbling experience. These men and women of unconditional service paid the ultimate price for the preservation of liberty — sacrificial heroes all.
During our time in Normandy, we came to understand that several European nations, including France, were holding, or about to hold commemorative World War II Liberation Remembrance Days. As we approach the June 6 anniversary of D-Day, may we also remember.
Remembering with sincere appreciation that these 9,387 brave souls and so many more pushed back. They would not tolerate white supremacy and genocide. They would not tolerate authoritarian rule and fascism. They would not tolerate existential hate and evil. They pushed back against totalitarianism and secured the bedrock principles and values of liberty and freedom for all, which we probably now often take too much for granted in our daily lives.
On the sands of Normandy, below the cemetery, stands a soaring sculpture. Its gleaming silver sails rising upward and stretching westward towards the English Channel. It includes the “Wings of Hope,” “Rise of Freedom” and “Wings of Fraternity.” One can walk up and touch it, stand in its shadows. People linger there. They read the placard and scan the sandy beaches and the bordering headland cliffs — trying to imagine. They lay flowers.
Looking up from the sculpture, called “Les Braves,” to the cemetery that lies above, a somber yet heartfelt tear of profound gratitude rose as we watched our granddaughters run, laugh, and play in carefree and joyful freedom, on the golden sands of Omaha Beach.
Thank you brave ones all. Thank you, Glenn, as the teardrop falls.
