D-Day, June 6, 1944, America’s most unselfish day
I was born in the shadow of World War II. Each year, June 6, was a day everyone stopped and remembered this day in 1944. For many years I saw my mother shed tears on this day as she would take a photo of a young sailor from the bottom of a cedar chest.
She wrapped the photo in a silk scarf, which I later learned was a gift to my Mother from the young sailor in the picture. His name was Joe Dorrity, and he died during World War II in the Pacific Theater. He was not a D-Day casualty, but this was the day Mom set aside to remember him.
He was the great love of my Mother’s life. My father was her companion, but Joe was her passion, and had he lived, most surely would have been my Mom’s husband, and father to her children. She would look at the photo and smile, then shed silent tears. After a while, she would dry her tears, re-wrap the picture, and go on with her life.
My Mother’s life-long grief is something shared by Mothers, and lovers of young men and women who went to war and did not come home. She was not alone in her grief.
“They’re murdering us here. Let’s move inland and get murdered.” –Colonel Charles D. Canham, commander of the 116th Infantry Regiment, 1st Infantry Division, on Omaha Beach.
