Mekong River near Song My Tho 1971A World War II veteran, closer now to 90 years than 80, told me he once had a dream that he died and was reunited with his fellow soldiers who had perished between Normandy and the Ardennes.
They were all as he remembered them, young men. He, however, in the dream appeared as he does today -- well advanced in years. They didn't know him at first, he being now decades their senior. It disturbed him to see himself that way, and to be seen by them an old man.
They left their youth on the beach.
Manhood rushed upon them, and they waded in -- wave upon wave. Then, just as suddenly, the life-tide ebbed, seeping into the sands of Omaha, Utah, Juno, Gold and Sword.
Those who fell left memories of perpetual youth and vigor, boldness, daring, duty and courage. They left their youth on the beach.
And what of they who slogged on through sand and mud, through hedgerow and hamlet, through field and forest eventually returning to their homes? What of they who rode the transports back, building homes and families, building vibrant communities and lasting institutions. They too left their youth on the beach.
All of the boys died that day near Cherbourg, Le Havre, Dieppe and Calais.
Beneath the deafening roar of artillery, amid the smoke and stench, manhood marched ashore soaked in salt and blood, and a decade passed in a moment. Only snapshots of youth remained. Only men lived on, aged beyond years.
Generations rolled by, and a thousand daily flag-bedecked caskets mark now each passing day. Those who left their youth on the beach with their fallen brothers of another century now leave their bodies for a distant shore.
Every war exacts its toll.
We left our youth on the beach there in WWII, and in the sweltering jungles of Vietnam, among the snow clad barren ground of Korea and in the choking sands of Iraq.
Those who died inspire us, and those who live return to lead and transform us.
No comments:
Post a Comment