Blogging for Michigan

During my hiatus history occurred.

Names were carved into granite, a timeless memorial to brave soldiers. Most of those names have also been carved into more personal memorials. People I have never met moved me to tears, stories about events I have never had to witness broke my heart, small moments in time we’ll never have back made me smile.

Along a busy street, on the far edge of a busy park, rests a large chunk of stone. On this stone, surrounded by greenery, is carved many names. Fortunately, the man who was born to one of those names came home from a war in a country I will likely never see.

It’s hard to remember, when reading the history books, the individuals. Perhaps because the sheer magnitude of war is too overwhelming to contemplate a single name. Seeing the word ‘soldiers’ is more comforting, I think.

I say this, because it’s incredibly moving to read individual names, to hear stories about personal accounts, to see the man or woman shielded behind the word ‘troops’. The ceremony took about 3 hours, there weren’t enough chairs for all of the attendees, and I would go again in a heartbeat.

I have always known my grandfather served in the European theater of World War II. What I didn’t know is that one very cold December, his company was served Christmas dinner early–because their commanding officers didn’t think they would be alive to have it on December 25.

I am the proud grandchild of a World War II survivor. Any given day of the week, I can walk up to this monument that I never knew was there and trace the name of a man I never had the privilege to know.

During my hiatus, I was given the distinct honor and privilege to witness a historical event. It changed me.