In honor of the men and women who sacrificed for my freedom. They all gave everything, and few returned home.

This is a re-post from my trip to Normandy two summers ago, complete with photos of the American Cemetery and my reflections.

While today is just another day for us, June 6, 1944 was an important day for our country. It remains an important day for many families who were affected by this day sixty-nine years ago.

I want to remember.

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Just returned home from a grueling trip to Normandy.

When I mentioned Flexibility the other day, I didn't realize how much more closely I would become aquatinted with her.

I'm fighting the temptation to grumble and complain any more (was able to rant to Mom earlier today :), but today was very frustrating. So I'll keep it short. Let's just say that we were misinformed and sold tickets to the wrong station in Normandy. We were fined on the train for not "validating our tickets" (never told we had to) and arrived three hours away (by car) from Omaha Beach. One bus, another train, a taxi, and 5 1/2 hours later we made it to the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach, in time to walk around for 45 minutes before it closed.

We never made it to the ocean (the site closed), but the short time we walked through the cemetery was worth every minute, every euro, and every trouble.

Our time at the cemetery was very rushed and emotionally charged, but I was able to slow down and take it all in while we were there. The two-hour train ride home gave me some time to detox and think over the day's events. I'll just share some photos and then something I wrote in my journal on the way home.

Train no. 1.

The city where we first arrived from Paris. We didn't realize how far were still were from Omaha, so we enjoyed ignorantly moseying around the area and walking near the coast.

It's beautiful here.

Banana break.

Some very good, stress-free moments of the day. :)

I've resolved to come back to this place and spend time getting to know the area. It reminded me of Wilmington, NC and PEI, Canada for separate reasons.

Bus trip.

Train trip no. 2.

Taxi.

We finally made it, and this was the first thing I saw.

Though we were pressed for time, I made sure to sign the guest book.

We seriously ran through the exhibit hall, so we could make it to the cemetery. I still managed to snap some shots to show Dad.

That's the real beach. 

My first glimpse.

You may look at all these many pictures and think they're the same.

But they're not. They're different names and different people.

This is when I really broke down.

Closest view of the beach.

How can my response be anything but thankfulness after such a sobering experience?

We had a few close moments today, but all the stresses and frustrations washed away when I felt with my heart the vastness perceived by my eyes. So much loss. It is unfathomable. To say it was sobering does not even begin to portray the gravity and reality of the experience. I've read, watched movies, and talked with Dad, but even the raw nature of those things falls incomprehensibly short. The hour spent walking ghostlike among names and past teal seas which were bloodstained will never leave my heart, though I will fail to express in words how I have been changed.