The American Cemetery in Normandy, France displays 9,300 gravestones of American soldiers who perished on June 6, 1944 – otherwise known as D-Day.

My family visited this cemetery several years ago. At the time, my oldest son was studying World War II in his junior high school history class. We had planned a vacation to France for the summer. And, it seemed that besides doing the typical “touristy” things, we might get some educational benefit by taking a detour to Normandy.

I had no idea.

Our tour guide had lived in Normandy his entire life. His parents and his grandparents were residents of Normandy. He knew the history. He was the perfect person to show us his “neighborhood.”

We walked along Utah beach and Omaha beach. All the while, our tour guide explained the events of June 6, 1944. He choked back tears as he described the day.

We visited a church in the Normandy region. Its blood-stained pews had been preserved to remind visitors of the sacrifices made by the American military.

As my family walked along some of the back-roads in Normandy we were approached by a few of the local elderly residents. Our tour guide explained we were American tourists visiting the D-Day memorials. The residents shook our hands and nodded, saying “Merci. Merci. Merci.”

Then we visited the American Cemetery.

It’s on the hillside, overlooking the ocean. It would be an ideal location for a luxury resort or a high-priced, exclusive community. But, the French set it aside as a place to honor the fallen American soldiers.

As you stand at the entrance of the cemetery, you see a field of green grass interrupted by 9,300 stone-white grave markers. In the distance, the blue waves of the ocean lighten the image.

We were the only “foreigners” visiting the American cemetery that day. But, there were many people walking by the gravesites and stopping occasionally to pause and say a silent prayer. Our tour guide explained that these were the “locals.” “They come by every day,” he said, “just to say thanks.”

My sons walked among the gravestones. And, they did the math. “Dad,” my youngest son said, “this guy was only 18 years old.”

He could have said that several thousand times.

Seventy-five years ago today, 9,300 Americans gave up their lives to defend freedom.

The residents of Normandy still shake the hands of American tourists who visit. And, they still stand by the gravesites and say “Merci.”

Best regards,

Jeff Clark