Soldiers and Angels

This is the last of the three essays for Memorial Day week-end. This one was prompted by a very moving visit my husband and I made to a WWII American cemetery in France. The essay was published in The Best Times, a newspaper for seniors in the Kansas City area. It seemed appropriate for thie Memorial Day 2012. If you enjoy it, please pass it on to others.

Soldiers and Angels

On a two week visit to France, I didn’t expect to be moved to tears and left with a memory etched on my heart forever.

 After a day and a half exploring Nice, our group of forty-two Americans boarded a motor coach to travel to a river cruiser for the next leg our our trip. Our program director announced that we’d be making a stop at the WWIIRhone AmericanCemetery in Draguignan where 861 U.S. soldiers are buried. These soldiers were ones who died in this part of France during the August 1944 invasions.

The southern invasion of France is not so well-known as the D-Day invasion along the beaches of Normandy in northern France. The invasion from the Mediterranean Sea began in August of 1944 and holds its own important place in the history of the war and with the French people.

We were informed there would be a wreath laying ceremony for our group of seniors, many of whom remembered those war years as either veterans or children of vets. I was a small child during those years, but I still remember many little things about our life at the time, and I have read a great deal about this period in history because it feels personal to me.

We filed silently through impressive iron gates. The brilliant blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the sun warmed us. The rustle of leaves in the many stately trees that surrounded the cemetery proved to be the only sound as we gazed at the rows of white crosses and Stars of David. No one spoke as we moved between the graves on the pristine grounds, reading names until the cemetery director arrived.

He told us the soldiers’ families all had the option to have their loved one’s body repatriated or to have them buried near the place they had died in battle. How difficult, I thought, such a decision would be. Sometimes, there were no parents left at home, or a young wife had already moved on with her life and needed no reminders of an earlier marriage, and so the fallen soldier never went home, staying in France where he died.

Everyone strolled slowly along the path that led to a large stone memorial depicting an angel. It served as one outside wall of an open air chapel.

Inside the chapel, a stone altar was dwarfed by the huge mosaic picture that towered above it. The mural-like picture, done predominantly in shades of blue, featured an angel in the center. My eye was drawn to her first, and though I studied the other, smaller figures, my gaze kept returning to her. The angel was seated. She cradled the body of an American soldier. The artist managed to capture a pure love in this figure. He succeeded in drawing visitors’ eyes to this central theme. Gazing at the two figures, I felt a lump in my throat and my eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Yet, I could not stop looking.

I thought about my uncle who flew missions over Germany but came home. I thought about my friend’s uncle who spent half of the war in a prison camp. I thought about my dad’s cousin who died in a plane that exploded on a runway. I thought about the memorial plaque at my grade school that listed the names of graduates who had not come home. The angel and soldier in the mural spoke for all of them.

Our program director held a large bouquet of fresh flowers. She asked if there were veterans of any war present who could participate in the wreath laying. The red, white and blue ribbon tails on the floral piece fluttered in the soft breeze that swept into the chapel from the two open sides.

Three men stepped forward. I learned later that two were veterans of WWII, having been very young men in the final days when they were called up. The third appeared to be a bit younger, although all had gray hair. He had been a pilot in the Korean War. Their shoulders were a bit rounded, and wrinkles creased their faces. As they neared the altar, they stood side by side, the rest of us gathered behind. The trio marched forward and laid the floral tribute between the Christian cross and the Star of David.  The three men snapped to attention, standing taller than they had in years and saluted the soldier lying in the angel’s arms. For one magic moment, they were young soldiers again. Even these many years later, they shared a common bond.

The gentle breeze of only moments earlier turned stronger, and the now-frantic rustling of the leaves surrounded us on both sides of the open-air chapel as we were invited to sing our national anthem. One or two people began slowly, and soon others joined in.

I tried to sing, but the emotion of the moment rose up and blocked my throat so thoroughly, I could not have sung had my life depended on it. Instead, I listened to the strong words of the song that is the pride of our nation.

As we retraced our steps through the cemetery, passing row upon row of graves, I thought of what so many Americans had sacrificed during the war fought on foreign shores during my childhood years. Lives were lost and families grieved, but others lived freely because of it.

I thought of a well-known quote that seemed to fit this small cemetery. All gave some, some gave all.

Memorial Day Or Thanksgiving?

Yesterday's post was about writing personal essays with a patriotic theme. I am going to post three that I have written in the past. This one was published in the Kansas City Star last Memorial Day. Come back tomorrow for another.

Memorial Day Or Thanksgiving?

By Nancy Julien Kopp

Let’s add something to this Memorial Day. While we honor those who gave their lives for our country, let’s also give tribute to those who serve now in Afghanistan and Iraq, and other parts of the world. The news media gives us the numbers deployed, the numbers who return, the numbers in each country.

    

The men and women who serve in our armed forces today are not only numbers in a newspaper article. Those who deploy leave behind parents, sisters and brothers, spouses and children, as well as myriad friends. They are people. They laugh, they cry, they love, they endure hardships, they work hard. They are human beings with all the emotions you and I experience. They sweat, they like to eat three times a day or more, they enjoy fellowship with others, they pray, they shake with fear more often than we’ll ever know. They are warm, living beings—not numbers in a news account.

    

The people in each brigade smile, cry, tell jokes, and treasure the photos of loved ones. They have headaches and stomachaches like you and I. They get slivers

in their fingers and bruises on arms and legs. They’re no less vulnerable to physical ailments than any of us, but they face dangers we have never dreamed of.

    

I live near an army post, so I frequently see uniformed soldiers. They stop at the grocery store on their way home from work just like teachers and attorneys and librarians do. They pick up their children at soccer fields as a civilian mom or dad does. We are all very much alike, except for one thing. These soldiers, male and female, have volunteered to serve, to protect our country at home and in foreign lands, to perhaps put their life in danger while doing so.

    

Have you ever thanked a soldier or marine or sailor? Maybe you’d feel uncomfortable walking up to a total stranger and saying, “Thanks for all you do for me and the rest of America every day.” You can give a great gift by saying something like it to a member of the armed forces. Think about it the next time you see an American in uniform.

    

A few years ago, my husband and I were returning from a visit to Europe. We were tired and anxious to get through customs when we landed in the USA. As we approached the passport checkpoint, a door opened and an entire unit of uniformed soldiers filed through. They were returning from Iraq, an even longer flight than we’d had. We stopped and watched these fatigued young men and women as they walked by. Some nodded and smiled, others stared straight ahead. Some I could barely see for the tears that filled my eyes. I wanted so badly to say Welcome Home to them, but the lump in my throat didn’t allow it. The pride that encompassed me at that moment cannot be described. I was every soldier’s mother for just an instant.

And what about the ones who didn’t return to walk through that airport door--the ones who came home in a body bag or a wooden coffin. My pride in them is every bit as strong along with a deep and abiding gratitude in what they gave for the rest of us. They sacrificed so that we continue to live in a free country and that others might, too. 

    

On Memorial Day or any day, take time to say thank you to a military person. Say it in person or say it in your heart, but please say it.

Take Time To Rmember

Last night we watched the annual Memorial Day Concert in Washington, DC. This outstanding tribute to our military and their families is something Ken and I try to watch every year. The one we saw last evening ranks as one of the very best. The music and the performers were top-notch as always, but the individual stories they chose to highlight were exeptionally well done. One was of two soldiers who had been in the Korean War while the other showed us another side of war, that of the widows left to grieve a husband who gave his life for his country. And yes, I did need to go get Kleenex more than once. I find these tributes extremely moving, and no matter how hard I try, I can't keep the tears from falling.

Ken and I talked about how fortunate we both were to have been raised in families where patritotism ranked high on the list of values our parents taught us. From the time we were very small children, we learned to love America and all she stands for. We learned to support and honor our miitary, whether actively serving or veterans or fallen heroes. Our schools re-enforced those same teachings. We both went to grade school during WWII and high school during the Korean Conflict, as it was termed. Not a war, only a conflict.

When these patriotic holidays come around, we know we will see countless songs, stories, essays, articles and poems that highlight the day. The writers who have shared their words commemorating holdiays like Memorial Day write with emotion and even passion, so there are some excellent pieces that have been published. Newspapers often feature a story relating to Memorial Day. Take time to read them. They'll do your heart good.

Last year, an essay of mine was published close to Veteran's Day that urged people to remember that the military men and women are more than a number. They are real people like you and me. I shared the essay here at the blog. For those who may have missed it, you can read it today. It's one I'm proud of, one I wrote from the heart. Take time in the day's activities to pay tribute to the military who represent all of us around the world in conflict after conflict. And remember families who wait at home, praying for their  safe.return.

More Than A Number

                                                                By Nancy Julien Kopp

The men and women in our armed forces are not numbers in a newspaper article. Each one that deploys leaves behind parents, sisters and brothers, spouses and children, as well as myriad friends. They are not numbers; they are people. They laugh, they cry, they love, they endure hardships, they work hard. They are human beings with all the emotions you and I experience. They sweat, they like to eat three times a day or more, they enjoy fellowship with others, they pray, they shake with fear more often than we’ll ever know. They are warm, living beings—not numbers in a newspaper account.

How often do we read that another brigade has deployed? Numbers? No, not numbers, that brigade is made up of people who smile, cry, tell jokes, treasure the photos they carry of loved ones. They have headaches and stomachaches like you and me. They get slivers in their fingers and bruises on arms and legs. They’re no less vulnerable to physical ailments than you or I, but they face dangers we have never dreamed of.

I live near an army post, so I see uniformed soldiers everywhere I go. They stop at the grocery store on their way home from work just like teachers and attorneys and librarians do. They pick up their children at soccer fields as a civilian mom or dad does. We are all very much alike, except for one thing. These soldiers, male and female, have volunteered to serve, to protect our country at home and in foreign lands, to perhaps put their life in danger while doing so.

Have you ever thanked a soldier or marine or sailor? Maybe you’d feel uncomfortable walking up to a total stranger and saying, “Thanks for all you do for me and the rest of America every day.” What a great gift it would be if you could say that or something like it to a member of the armed forces. Think about it the next time you see an American in uniform.

A couple years ago, my husband and I were returning from a European trip. We were tired and anxious to get through customs when we landed in the USA. As we approached the passport checkpoint, a door opened and an entire unit of uniformed soldiers filed through. They were returning from Iraq, an even longer flight than we’d had. We stopped and watched these fatigued young men and women as they walked by us. Some nodded and smiled, others stared straight ahead. Some I could barely see for the tears that had filled my eyes. I wanted so badly to say Welcome Home to them, but the lump in my throat didn’t allow it. The pride that encompassed me at that moment cannot be described. I was every soldier’s mother for just an instant.

And what about the ones who didn’t return to walk through that airport door? The ones who came home in a body bag or a wooden coffin. My pride in them is every bit as strong along with a deep and abiding gratitude in what they gave for the rest of us. They sacrificed so that we can keep living in a free country. Yes, we Americans have many disagreements, but, even so, we are blessed in numerous ways.

Don’t wait for Veterans Day or Memorial Day, take time to say thank you to a military person. Say it in person or say it in your heart, but please say it.



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