I love my country. I love my state. I love the city where I live very much. I don't love war, but respect the military people who put their lives on the line for the ideals of our own country. I am not a pacifist, knowing that there are some just wars. I protested during the Vietnam War while my brother was there, having been drafted out of college. He missed my wedding and came home with Malaria. He also came home with PTSD which was not diagnosed until 3 years ago after his long battle with depression, panic attacks and alcoholism. Now he has been diagnosed with Parkinsons' Disease, just as he was getting his life back.
My Dad was a World War II veteran. He fought in North Africa and Italy. He never talked about the horrors but looking back now, my brother and I realize that he suffered from panic attacks and a skin disease related to stress. My parents didn't mention it. Long after his death, in the process of selling the family home, I came across some papers and writings from my Dad's war experiences. Little had I known how awful the battle of Anzio was until I saw it for myself on Ken Burns' documentary series about World War II. My Dad didn't mention that the soldiers who landed on the beaches of Anzio, much like those who landed at Normandy, were literally sitting ducks. He didn't mention the long time spent in the winter months of the Italian hills, camping in the snow and cold. I have now visited the beaches of Normandy and the hilly areas of Italy and have had a chance to see for myself the areas where my Dad fought and where the brave soldiers at Normandy fought and died. It was sobering, for sure. At the American Cemetery in Normandy, above Omaha Beach, we laid a rose at the cross of a Minnesota soldier. There weren't many dry eyes among the tour group after they found a name on one of the thousands of crosses there and laid a rose at it's base.
The first time I visited the World War II Memorial on the Washington Mall, I cried for my Dad at the section devoted to the North Africa/Italy front. The 34th Red Bull Infantry Division still exists as a Minnesota National Guard division and has sent soldiers to Iraq and Afghanistan. When visiting the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington D.C., I found the name of a friend, an airman, who went missing in action 6 months after his marriage to my good friend and his deployment. His body was never found. For years my friend waited and finally had her husband declared "legally dead". She married again and her life goes on, never quite the same. Just last night, while walking on the Lakewalk in Duluth, I saw his name on the Vietnam memorial tucked into a secluded area along the Lakewalk.
Coincidentally, also tucked into a secluded area above the Lakewalk in Duluth is a memorial to Minnesota victims of gun violence. The bell at the garden is the photo on my blog. It is rung occasionally to honor those who have died. It is certainly not as visible as a flag flown at half-staff, but it is a place where people can go to think about a loved one. I just read about another such memorial to victims of homicide, in an article on boston.com. Putting names of victims on rocks is powerful. It appears that The Garden of Peace in Boston is little known to the public, however, as is the Memorial Bell Garden in Duluth.
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