Tall white smooth walls enveloped me, encircling the memorial structure. In front of me, a  rectangular mass of water reflected the gray morning sky. Beyond the water, rows upon rows of light gray marble crosses laid out beneath the dense clouds for what seemed like forever. The high pitched voice of our tour guide introduced, “Bonjour, everyone. Let us proceed to the informational portion of our tour of the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial.” The hinges of my jaw relaxed downward while I peered out to the nearly 10,000 graves of American Soldiers who braved their lives in World War II. Holy cow. That is so many American lives.

Our French tour guide continued, “This statue is called The Spirit of American Youth Rising From the Waves.” The young bronze man, who rose from a wave, stared at my innocence. “Everyone, please pull out the card you received this morning” she motioned to the box next to her, “take a rose and place it on the grave of the American Soldier as indicated on your card. Follow the coordinates to navigate through the rows to the grave site.”

My eyes peered down at the paper my hands, grasped and scanned across the neatly printed ink. Attempting to imagine what this soldier experienced, I ventured out through the many crosses, lined up in perfect linear fashion. As I paced down the rows, my breaths increased. My heart sunk while the carved names raced through my head. The vividly colored flower symbolizing new beginnings, hope, and promise gracefully rested in my hands.

While I was standing amidst the graves, my mind went to my grandma’s cousin, Robert Casin, a teenager among the first wave of soldiers to land on the beaches of Normandy. My family was lucky enough to have his safe return among many who died. What constitutes life and death? Why was my family so lucky to have Robert live amongst so much death? These families must have mourned their relatives deeply. Another wave of thankfulness hit me. The heaviness in this emotion quickly shifted to responsibility. A responsibility to use my position of advantage for something better. This is my chance to pay it forward to those who weren’t as lucky as my family. What can I do to help my country?
.  .  . 
Jefferson D. Dickson, US Captain, Mississippi July 15, 1944. I inhaled deeply. Who exactly was this man? What were all of his accomplishments? What will I accomplish in my life? My knees buckled; the solid cross faded to a moistened blur. I firmly grasped the rose in my right and the paper in my left. Here he was. I found him; I had the opportunity to respect him. What will I do to be appreciated and honored someday? The subtle soft rose scent calmed my restless mind. As I departed Captain Dickson’s grave, I left the rose and gained a sense of respect and appreciation for this man in particular. I exhaled and returned to my feet.

Heading towards the pool of reflecting water that overlooked the cemetery, I blinked my eyes and my internal camera captured the scene. I will never forget this day. I looked out among the many lines of light marble crosses and pondered the lives of these men. The sight humbled me. My mom has always been there to make me dinner each night and my dad has always come to my sporting events. How dare I be so complacent with things in my life.

Since this experience, I am more aware of my responsibility to give back. After seeing the many people that lost their life, I reflect on a strengthened passion for helping others. Determined to make a difference, I am going to study biomedical engineering. I hope that I can be a part of advancing technology to help save lives and prevent heartbreak with this opportunity and interest of mine.

When I reflect and reminisce on my encounter, the importance of converting respect into a responsibility strikes me. I am so blessed and hope to use this as a motivation in my future medical career.  In awe of the bravery and relentlessness of the Americans who approached the beaches of Normandy, I hope to continue to implement these qualities in my future education, life, and career.

As I walked away from the great white circle of walls, I peered back over my right shoulder at the memorial one last time. I read the words engraved on the outside of the cemetery structure, To these we owe the high resolve that the cause for which they died shall live. While I enter into the next chapter of my life, I want to continuously reflect back to the accumulation of personal growth within me that began at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial.