Return to Normandy Part 4

As we move away from the front of this poignant memorial to those who landed on Utah Beach that historic day and for many days to follow, we see one last striking site. In a classic example of the American spirit, a bench-style monument includes the names of cities that were yet to be liberated or conquered along with their distance from Utah Beach. We see one of particular note: Berlin 1100 km.

The grass-covered dunes rise gently behind and beside the museum building, hiding the panoramic view of the water that will open to us as we walk down the wide sandy path. A low sturdy sign confirms the location, Utah Beach. The beach is wide and flat, and the gray sky produces an almost monochromatic scene of gray-green, dunes, sand, surf, ocean. We look out to the water and strain to see what isn't there. We turn and look up to the top of the dunes. The view for the Germans, the view for the Americans. We imagine the scene over those days of the invasion, with the thousands of vessels, men, tanks, trucks, the death and destruction, and the triumph.

I have carried along with me an enlarged photo of Daddy taken during the war in his uniform so that--even though he couldn't be with us in person--he is in a sense here with us. James takes a picture of me holding the photo of Daddy as we stand on the beach with the flags flying high on the dunes behind us. He takes another one with the ocean in the background, showing not only where the 552nd landed on that D-Day+8 but where they came from.

We return to the building and tour this truly important museum, spending considerable time in the gift shop, choosing books and memorabilia to bring back to Daddy and other family members, as well as Haley's history class. When the museum store employee learns that my father was in the D-Day invasion (I have shown her the photograph I brought along), she asks me to wait and disappears for a few minutes, returning with a young man dressed in suit and tie. He questions me about Daddy's service in the war and then tells me that the citizens of Ste. Marie du Mont have a certificate and medal to present to any veteran who participated in the D-Day invasion.

I could not be more thrilled. The prospect of returning home with a physical expression of the gratitude of the French people to my dad for his service is very exciting. The certificate is completed with Daddy's name and pertinent information and given to me to carry home. The medal is to be shipped at a later date, and in fact arrives in Daddy's mail in Longview, Texas a few months later, a large and beautiful commemorative medal, honoring the participants of D-Day.

In the museum one item stands out above all the others. It is a hand-written note accompanied by a dry and fading bouquet of flowers, both of which have been left in memory of the fallen at Utah Beach. My French is rusty, but a close translation reads:

Our bouquet is modest, but it is made of the wildflowers that you
saw when you arrived on our French soil.

You gave your life for our liberty. Our daddy told us.

Thank you. Each time we can come back, we will bring flowers for
your monument.

It is from three children: Marian, 10 years old, Gerald, 9 years old; and Aurora, 6 years old. The date is hard to read but appears to be 6 Juen 1973. I struggle to control my weeping. A girl's dress made from red, white, and blue parachute cloth hanging nearby seems a fitting punctuation to the letter.