Normandy (part 1): Omaha Beach

Traveling with friends is awesome.

Especially when they are awesome friends.

It's like awesome awesomeness.

So, when our friends Devon and Fran suggested months ago that we take a trip together, we readily agreed. It took us a while to figure out WHERE exactly we wanted to go, but in the end we settled on the Normandy region of France.

The adventure began on a Friday afternoon when we all hopped in the car and began our 8-hour car ride. This is quite the task with a 5 year old, almost 3 year old, and 6 month old. After a stop at a french McDonald's (complete with indoor play-place, of course) and many different toys and stories, we did finally arrive at the small farm house we were renting for the weekend. Fran and Devon stayed up waiting for us (it was almost 2 am). Aren't they amazing?

In the morning we awoke to barn cats skittering around at the windows, hungry chickens, and excited, squealy children. Did I mention that our kids love Devon and Fran's kids? We took our time eating breakfast and stretching our bones a bit, but ultimately hopped back into the car, excited to explore the region.

Omaha Beach

Our first outing was a visit to Omaha Beach on the Normandy coast.
I'm going to take a moment here to briefly break away from the light-heartedness of this post to talk about this visit.  I would be lying if I didn't say that visiting Omaha Beach was a major, major influence in my desire to visit Normandy. It had been on my bucket list from the beginning of our stint in Europe, but, as it is out of the way of pretty much everything, I wasn't sure it would ever happen. 

But it did. 

Omaha Beach is the site of the D-Day landings that left 2,000 American soldiers dead in a matter of hours. 

This visit, for me, was so, so...man. I just don't know how to describe it. 

Honestly, it was so emotional. The weight of what happened there was so very real to me. Again, it's hard to know how to describe it. Berkley and I had studied up on the D-Day invasion in preparation for this trip, and man...it made it so meaningful. 

As we were driving up to the beach, the minute the sand and the ocean came into view, I could see in my mind's eye hundreds and hundreds of boats approaching the beach, coming to a horrific, horrific battle.
I got all choked up just trying to tell the kids that this was an important place.






It could have been a perfectly normal visit to a beautiful beach. The kids ran and played and fell in the water and got filthy. Fran even caught a frog. We watched horses run by on the sand, and the waves crashing. Kites were being flown. The view was gorgeous. 

But you know what? It wasn't normal. 
It felt deep, and my heart was heavy with the knowledge of what had happened there. 
As we walked along the in the perfect, fine, beautiful sand...
as I gazed up at the American flag flying in the wind...
as I watched the children play....
I just wept.

I wept for the men storming the beach who died there without a sliver of a chance of survival. 
I wept for their families. 
I wept for the survivors who's lives would never, ever be the same after seeing what they did. 
I wept for the young, 16-year old German soldiers (this was the end of the war, remember?) just doing what they were told to do. 
I wept for the tragic situation of it all.

My emotions were so close to the surface all day, and still are everytime I think about it. I just shed a lot of tears.

How I felt was actually pretty surprising and a little unexpected, but very real. It was beautiful. It felt so surreal to watch my children play in the very sand that was once stained red. It felt like hallowed ground, but I was glad that people were allowed to play - it made me think of life, and renewal,  and freedom. 

Yeah...just...indescribable.

I'll never forget going there and how it made me feel. Never.

Normandy American Cemetery

After visiting the beach, we got in the car went down the road to the Normandy American Cemetery, where almost 10,000 are buried. 

They had a beautiful visitors center, with a lot of really good information, old gear, and stories of real men and women who served in the area. It helped deepen the picture of not only the D-Day invasion, but the entire battle in the region. 

And the cemetery...

...Man. 

Again. Hallowed Ground. Marker after marker. Real men. Real women. Their names. Where they were from. When they died. 

I paused at a grave marked 
"Here Rests in Honored Glory a Comrade in Arms Known But to God". 

I felt so grateful that was written, because indeed,  God knows who is there, and that their body is important. I marveled at the beauty of my belief that someday, through Christ, everyone will be resurrected. Everyone, everyone will have their bodies back, united with their souls, perfect and unblemished.

Again, tears were shed.

We heard taps and watched them take the flag down. There were many, many people there, but no one moved. Everyone, from many nations, stood, facing the flag, still and silent.

I felt privileged to be there, to honor those men and women.

Whew...what a visit.

We drove through the countryside to get back to our little house. It's beautiful there - small French towns, with large fields and stone barns. The people seem happy.

It was really cool to be there, and I thought, often, of my grandfather, who came through Normandy after the D-Day invasions. He traveled through that same area. We didn't make it up to Cherbourg, where the POW camp he worked in was originally located, but I did think of him often.

Stay tuned for part 2 to hear about the rest of our trip...