The maps app led us to an entrance I’ve never used before, closer to the Pentagon. I slowed the car to greet the guard, and show her the pass that allows us to drive in. Coming in from this side had me all turned around. In 23 years I’ve only ever come across the bridge and through the main entrance. As usual I was kicking myself for not recalling exactly which section we needed to find on Eisenhower Drive. And as usual, as we inched along, passing sections 68 and 67, I suddenly remembered we were looking for 66. Even that wasn’t immediately helpful. How many rows back from the road? I thought three. I was wrong. Just two. How close to the gravel path? Not too. Near a tree I think. Now there are more trees so that wasn’t helpful either.
I haven’t been in over a year and no matter how many times I visit, I’m always awed by the beauty of this place and I forget to concentrate on memorizing the location I’m looking for. Rows and rows of simple white headstones spreading in every direction. Section 66 was fairly empty in November of 1996. It’s full now.
We pulled the car over and got out so that we could begin hunting on foot. Frances went one direction, I headed the other. No luck. We moved to the next part of section 66. I looked along the third row. She headed further back.
“I don’t think he’s that far back,” I said. She began walking toward the road.
“Found him,” she suddenly called out. I breathed out, relieved. We both approached the grave site. The lettering on the headstone is no longer black like some of the newer ones. A small stone rested on top of it. Someone had been to visit. “Who?” I wondered and reached out my hand to touch the cold marble.
“Hi Daddy,” I said. “I miss you.”
Isn’t it weird when you think you know a place and then you can’t find what you’re looking for? It’s happened to me in cemeteries also– I completely felt your stress. Sending a hug– it was good you and Frances could go visit together.
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What a raw and open slice I feel the air and the cold marble. I imagine you tracing the letters. Glad you could be there.
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I was tearing up reading your post. Thank you to your father for his service. Thank you to your family.
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Oh, what a beautiful slice. Thank you for sharing this touching moment.
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What a beautiful moment. I am always taken with your ability to lead your reader through your pieces. I am always in anticipation of what comes next. I love that.
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There is comfort in touching a marker that commemorates life of one we’ve known, we’ve loved. I live about hundreds of miles from my dad and mom’s resting place. Sometimes I wish I could just stand there by them for a few moments.
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I knew exactly where you were going though I rely on public transportation in DC. Always treasure so many ways to respect those who protect and protected our freedoms! Thanks for sharing this slice!
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Part of the Greatest Generation. We are taking a trip to Washington to see the cherry blossoms. Part of that trip will include a trip to the WW II Memorial. Since my father fought in WW II I am looking forward to this stop.
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