First we have to walk the Tidal Basin with every cherry tree bursting with blossoms, covering their branches with delicate bunches. There's the Thomas Jefferson Memorial to visit on the way, and some live music to listen to near its steps. Depending on the weather we might have ice cream or just stare at people who are eating some as if they were crazy. Every holiday has its traditions.
Then there's the new adventures. Basilicas, monuments, memorials, and cemeteries are scattered around the city and are only a good walk or perhaps a Metro ride away. Each one has a new piece of history to unfold, some little treasure that makes all those schoolbook stories suddenly meaningful.
This year we went to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. For some reason memorials are harder to visit the more you know about the events. Though I'm too young to remember the war, I grew up with two generations who did, two generations who held their breaths to see if my uncle would return. And luckily, I know my uncle.
As we approached the wall I recognized it from the pictures I had seen before, the roses next to a black slab of names, perhaps a child's letter. Even though I knew what to expect, the wall wasn't familiar. Two thoughts occupied my mind. It was one big wall. It had rather small print.
Flowers, letters, and poems, were carefully laid at the base of the wall, desperately attempting to introduce passersby to a lost loved one. The visitors walk slowly, so many little shrines. This one was a nurse, there's a picture of her in uniform. This one was a joker, there's a little box with a whoopie cushion. Anything to remember them.
Then there are those that want to take home that engraving on the wall. They find that special name, place a piece of paper over it, and gently run their pencils over it, somehow extracting more from the granite than just a rubbing.
Over 58,000 names. And that's just our troops, not the millions of others killed. The names are in the order of their death or disappearance. To find a loved one on the giant slabs, there's a book with all the names in alphabetical order.
My uncle has said, "I won the lottery; I came home." So this picture is for you, Uncle Frankie. This is the book with the list of names of men and women left overseas. Undoubtedly you know some of these names in this massive text, and I'm sorry. But it's with relief that I look in this book, run my finger down the list of G's, and find no Gelsone there.
Jefferson Memorial picture by me
all other photos in this post by Jordan
5 comments:
Thank you, Kathryn.
I have wanted to visit the memorial. Mom told me my group of high school kids all died there. I don't have the heart to see their names. This is the closest I'll get.
Mom
Ah, lovely. I'd thought about going down to the mall on Saturday, but I needed to go into work. Now it is rainy.
Pictures don't do the Vietnam memorial justice. I'd seen pictures for years, and was always 'eh.' But once I saw it in person, it was quite powerful.
It is a very powerful structure. As I approached the memorial for the first time, still 100 yards away, i broke into quiet tears. Your post is a lovely tribute.
I got to see the memorial back in '89, on the way to the BSA Jamboree. Thankfully I had started to develop my internal photo machine at that point (or maybe the visit to the memorial and Arlington Cemetery created it?), and I still vividly remember the losses palpable there. Lots of raw emotions. I was happy to see no Gelsone's (part of me wanted to see Grampa Frank, for some reason) or McDougall's.
- Andrew
Thanks for this, Kathryn. It was lovely to come across your post at the end of Veteran's Day and feel a sense of communion in remembering the service of my dad and his. Strange to think, eh, had you not had the opportunity to know your Uncle Frank, well, I would not be writing you at all, now would I? Seems I, too, am a winner. I hope you are well and happy and becoming evermore the person you would like to be.
With love,
Amy Denise
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