Where Silence Speaks the Loudest — Reflections from Normandy

“At the eleventh hour, on the eleventh day, of the eleventh month — we will remember them.”

Though this quote originated in remembrance of World War I soldiers, it is just as fitting when honoring those who served and sacrificed in World War II — and every veteran since.

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I love to travel, so for my 50th birthday, I decided I’d rather take a trip than have a party. I had already booked a cruise with two friends and my sister, so using that as a starting point, I planned an unforgettable trip.

My sister Kris and I spent a few days in London before boarding our ship, where we spent two weeks cruising around the British Isles. Then we took the Eurostar (the Chunnel) train from London to Paris and spent five days in France before flying home. It was a fantastic trip.

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One of the most unforgettable experiences was our Normandy Beach Tour. We visited the museum at Utah Beach and stood on the sand where American soldiers bravely fought for the liberation of France.

We visited Pointe du Hoc, which overlooks Omaha Beach. We looked down into the massive craters left by Allied bombs and explored the bunkers where German soldiers once fired upon the American Rangers scaling the cliffs.

It was eerie and humbling to think of the brave young men who charged toward those beaches — young men no older than my sons and nephew.

The brave young men who had wives, girlfriends, parents, and siblings waiting for them to come back. They had grandparents, friends, and lives awaiting their return.

The brave young men who made the ultimate sacrifice—and would never return home again. Their remains rest in France, not far from where they lost their lives—yet thousands of miles from home.

It was surreal to stand on those cliffs, surrounded by such beauty on a sunny June day, knowing that thousands of lives had been lost there.

It seems land so traumatized by war should bear deep, visible scars.

We visited Omaha Beach and stood in the shadow of the memorial honoring the American soldiers who fought and died on those sands.

I expected the tone there to be quiet and reverent—but instead, the laughter of people swimming broke the silence. It brought life to land that had once seen so much death.

Beautiful scenery, heartbreaking and haunting history.

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Our next stop was the Normandy American Cemetery, where 9,236 white crosses and 152 white Stars of David stand—row after row of stone markers honoring the brave young men who fought to defeat Hitler.

It’s hard to imagine what nearly 9,400 gravesites look like. To see it was surreal. Humbling. Haunting. Beautiful. Sad.

Row after row of markers, each one representing the loss of an American soldier.

Shortly before the cemetery closed, we heard the mournful tones of Taps. As it played, the American flag was slowly lowered and then folded with the utmost respect.

It’s hard to put into words how powerful that moment was—how it felt to stand among those grave markers, hearing Taps and watching the flag ceremony. It was beautiful and solemn—the kind of moment that fills you with quiet gratitude.

It was a moment where life seemed to pause—a tiny sliver of time dedicated to our fallen soldiers. In that stillness, we honored the American soldiers who had barely begun to live before making the ultimate sacrifice.

American soldiers who had hopes and dreams.
American soldiers who someone loved, missed once they deployed, and ultimately mourned.

Despite the few hundred people standing around us, no one made a sound. It was beautiful to watch—beautiful to witness so many people still honoring our brave American soldiers.

It is, perhaps, the best way to honor the fallen: to stand shoulder to shoulder with people of all nationalities in solemn solitude. In that moment, we weren’t American or French or German—or anything else. We were simply human.

It was moving. Unforgettable. Haunting. Surreal. Heartbreaking—to say the least.

But there was also pride. And gratitude.

And still, none of these words even begin to capture how it felt.

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Nearly all of the 9,389 soldiers buried at the Normandy American Cemetery were killed during the summer of 1944, most during the D-Day landings and the battle for Normandy.

As I write this, it has been eighty-one years since the Normandy invasion. Tuesday, November 11, 2025, will mark the 81st Veterans Day since the Allies fought and won on the sands of Normandy.

This Veterans Day, I feel especially grateful—for those who lost their lives making the ultimate sacrifice, for those who were injured and carry physical scars, for those who carry invisible ones, and for every American soldier who has served—whether during a time of peace or a time of war.

Thank you to the people of France who so proudly care for the cemetery and the graves of the brave Americans buried at the Normandy American Cemetery.

To all American servicemen and women—thank you for your service.

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📷 Photos by HAP
All photos are my own, taken during my visit to Normandy, France — featuring Utah Beach, Pointe du Hoc, Omaha Beach, and the Normandy American Cemetery. I’m honored to share them in remembrance of the soldiers who rest there, and the peace their courage made possible. Each image is a moment I’ll never forget — a quiet reminder of the bravery and sacrifice forever honored on those shores.

Thank you for taking a quiet moment to read and reflect. If this piece meant something to you, please ⭐, share, or comment — and take a moment today to thank a veteran.