Respectful silence blankets expanses of empty grassy fields that are divided only by rustic wooden fences. Today is appropriately overcast. It’s peaceful here, but solemn. So many lives lost, so much blood shed so that we can live as we do today.
I find the lyric “…and I won’t forget the men who died, and gave that right to me” running through my head as I read about key landmarks here and imagine the gruesome scene that took place where I stand. I am proud to be an American, but most of all I’m grateful. Too often I take for granted the brave souls that fought for our freedom, the pride and sense of right that drove countless men to set aside everything for this country.
Where would we be without such determination? What would our lives look like if not for the men who believed so strongly that we should be our own country, independent of Great Britain? Or the men who had to face their own brothers on battlefields so that we could be united as one nation and let every man have his right to freedom? Or those who have since defended our liberty at all costs?
Countless monuments and statues that dot this landscape remind me that I owe so much to these men. I would be remiss to forget their sacrifice.
