Sad Day

June 22, 2025.   I hope this date evaporates like every other ordinary date as life goes on, but I have fears that this one will cause us to pause many years later with great sadness and remorse.      

Early this morning, the United States just blew oxygen-rich air onto a smoldering fuse to an extraordinary decades-old, perhaps centuries-old, complicated explosive situation.  The spectacular peril is real;  it holds the potential for life-changing effects for all people, and certainly will be deadly to many. 

I am praying to God for a miracle.  A miracle like no other, one that will bring about peace and stability throughout the world. 

I cannot escape this.  It fully occupies my mind today, and ironically, Stan and I are living in the Normandy region where D-day took place.  On the morning of June 6, 1944, Allied forces surprised the Germans occupying France and changed the course of WWII.  Of the 4,414 Allied troops killed that day, just that day alone I reiterate, 2,501 were Americans.  The grand invasion and battle over Normandy took four months and the lives of 29,000 US servicemen to get the job done.  In all, WWII took the lives of 407,316 US military people, the equivalent of a thriving city’s population, and countless others from all over the world.  War is serious.  War is horror.  War is deadly. 

Being in this area of France is heart-wrenching.  The Normandy district was especially hard hit by Allied bombers.  Between 1940 and 1945, 1,570 French towns and cities were nearly or fully destroyed.  The historic city of Caen, where we are spending our last few nights in France, was virtually annihilated. During the war, 73% of the city was destroyed, and 3000 French women, children, and locals were killed as innocent civilian bystanders; casualties of war, they say. How horrible! But at the time, there was no apparent other choice. 

The distinct look of 1950s architecture of blocky utilitarian rectangles now dominates the cityscape of Caen and that of many nearby towns. In many respects, Caen was hurriedly rebuilt so that people could live and work.    Important sights like the Église Saint-Pierre de Caen and other churches, the castle, and other buildings of historic value, have been restored to their pre-war appearance. Yet, like a reminder of the past, it is surprising to randomly find, sandwiched in between unimaginative squared-off buildings here and there, relics of 15th-century houses that somehow escaped damage. 

WWII was over by the time I was born.  Proud soldiers came home, and a great era of prosperity was launched.  Even the common family was able to buy a TV, to watch Dinah Shore Show, Dave Garroway, or the Ted Mack Talent Show. People of the 50s bought automatic washing machines, cars, and houses.  As a child, I knew nothing but simple times and opportunity.

But spending time in this country during the past few weeks has brought reality home to me.  The evidence of that war hurts my heart. 

How can it be logical to destroy the home and history of your neighbors to save them?  I wonder, how can it be logical to bomb for peace? 

There is just one more stop in France for me and Stan. Finally, tomorrow, I will get to see Monet’s Garden.  I have a feeling its serene beauty will be a salve to the pain I feel from past and pending wars. 

The last few days have been some of our best here in France. Sobbering but wonderful, we walked through the American Cemetery and looked over the golden beaches at the foot of a cliff where so many American servicemen lost their lives on the amphibious landing at Omaha Beach. As we drove onward toward the tidal island monastery, Monte Saint Michel, we stopped for a French and very expensive omelet with coffee, and then walked the causeway to the island. and up the 50 steps to the village below the abbey atop Mont Saint Michel. Because it was a religious site and occupied by low-ranking clerical Germans, this amazing Mont Saint Michel was unharmed in the war.

We have seen so much of this country and met so many amazing, kind people, it is impossible for me to relate and describe everything and all that we saw and experienced. Simply, we feel special, tapped by a rose. We are grateful.

Finally, in hopes of finding a small fishing village for a fresh seafood lunch, we accidentally found ourselves driving through a line of French resort cities, untouched by war, on the English Channel. Today, these small towns are the destinations for holiday seekers from all over Europe.

Au revoir, France!  Thank you for welcoming us so graciously.  May this country and all its people enjoy beauty, good wine, good times, and peace.