Scott Simon’s family at Normandy Cemetery.
Scott Simon
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Scott Simon
On the green cliffs of the Normandy American Cemetery are rows of white crosses and, occasionally, Stars of David. Part of the power lies in their simplicity and sameness. Eighty years ago this week, the tombstones of the 9,388 Americans who lost their lives during the Allied invasion of Normandy bear their names, ranks, divisions in which they served and the date of their sacrifice.
No hometown, age, job; no details about how they died. This is not because these things were trivial, but because everyone buried there fought for a common, vital cause: the fight to liberate Europe and defeat Nazism. Their families chose to let them stay there, above the beaches of Normandy where they fought, and now rest together.
Buried in nearby cemeteries are the bodies of thousands of British, Canadian and Commonwealth soldiers who also died in Normandy that summer.
I owe a personal debt of gratitude to these soldiers, sailors and airmen. When I was a child, my late mother-in-law, Mary Emily Richard, and her family lived in the cellar of their Normandy farmhouse for four years. German staff officers took over their home. Many of the young men buried on the cliffs of the cemetery just a few miles away were only a few years older than my mother-in-law and her teenage siblings. These soldiers gave their lives for strangers in another country, far from home.
“American citizen soldiers knew the difference between right and wrong,” writes historian Stephen Ambrose, “and they did not want to live in a world where wrong prevailed. So they fought and won, and we, all of us, lived Those who are living or those who are about to be born must be deeply grateful.
Every summer our family spends a few weeks in Normandy. We’ll be there in a few days. At night, we strolled along the beach that was full of blood, fire, fear, courage and death 80 years ago. Now empty and majestic. Our dogs romped along the beach and played with the waves. Our girls ran barefoot and collected shells.
I felt like my family owed a debt to those fallen soldiers, buried miles away. To some extent, maybe we all do.
