The Mothers of Normandy
This morning I watched the coverage of the 75th Anniversary of the D- Day Invasion. Across the stage sat old men, withered by years of hard work and deep love. Love of country and neighbor. Their flags waving in the wind, some touching their wrinkled faces. I imagined that behind those eyes are memories playing like a movie reel, but in their movie it’s not in black and white, it’s in vivid color. The noises, the smells, the heart pounding bravery that took soldier boys and beached them into warrior men. In their hearts they must still be boys. They still feel the ache of the loss, the thrill of victory and the sweet taste of survival. My eyes swell with tears.
Later this morning with the fresh thoughts of those fresh faced boys storming the beaches I had my 20 year old son riding beside me in the car, suddenly my heart ached a different kind of pain, a wrenching, helpless pain. I thought of the mothers of Normandy. The mothers who had boys just barely out of school, maybe not even 20 yet, facing the enemy. As they drifted to sleep on June 5th, probably with their son’s name on their lips, did they feel an urgency to pray harder than usual? Did they wake up at the break of dawn on the 6th and feel cold chills running up their spines as thousands of miles away their boys were running up the sides of slopes into gunfire?
I looked at my Mason, my boy who would love to join a branch of the armed forces if he were physically able to. My boy who loves country and justice with all his being. That same passion ran in the veins of those young men. The same mom’s heart I have for my son beat in the chest of the mothers of those young men.
All these years later these heroes are closer to 100 than to 20 and I’m sure if you asked any of them they’d tell you that they thought of their mother back then. They knew their mother was praying for them. They knew their buddy, who didn’t make it home alive, had a mom praying for him too. They saw the tears of all the mothers when they came home. Happy tears, sad tears, proud tears.
The mothers who were back at home, battling their own war in their souls. Remembering the boy-the one held in their arms just a few short years prior. The boy they watched grow from a soft faced school boy to a five o clock shadow soldier. The boy who will always be their baby. The sacrifice made on the beaches of Normandy was great by the lives given for freedom but the sacrifice made in the hearts of the mothers was greater still. The best, the bravest, the boys of a momma’s heart.
Forever, we are thankful for the boys and the moms who not only raised them well, but raised them to give their all for the love of country, family, and friend.
-Melissa Pyle
June 6, 2019
Later this morning with the fresh thoughts of those fresh faced boys storming the beaches I had my 20 year old son riding beside me in the car, suddenly my heart ached a different kind of pain, a wrenching, helpless pain. I thought of the mothers of Normandy. The mothers who had boys just barely out of school, maybe not even 20 yet, facing the enemy. As they drifted to sleep on June 5th, probably with their son’s name on their lips, did they feel an urgency to pray harder than usual? Did they wake up at the break of dawn on the 6th and feel cold chills running up their spines as thousands of miles away their boys were running up the sides of slopes into gunfire?
I looked at my Mason, my boy who would love to join a branch of the armed forces if he were physically able to. My boy who loves country and justice with all his being. That same passion ran in the veins of those young men. The same mom’s heart I have for my son beat in the chest of the mothers of those young men.
All these years later these heroes are closer to 100 than to 20 and I’m sure if you asked any of them they’d tell you that they thought of their mother back then. They knew their mother was praying for them. They knew their buddy, who didn’t make it home alive, had a mom praying for him too. They saw the tears of all the mothers when they came home. Happy tears, sad tears, proud tears.
The mothers who were back at home, battling their own war in their souls. Remembering the boy-the one held in their arms just a few short years prior. The boy they watched grow from a soft faced school boy to a five o clock shadow soldier. The boy who will always be their baby. The sacrifice made on the beaches of Normandy was great by the lives given for freedom but the sacrifice made in the hearts of the mothers was greater still. The best, the bravest, the boys of a momma’s heart.
Forever, we are thankful for the boys and the moms who not only raised them well, but raised them to give their all for the love of country, family, and friend.
-Melissa Pyle
June 6, 2019
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