Finding Peace in France

A few months before I left for France, my grandmother died. She was an amazing woman who was quick to smile and always had a story to tell. I was devastated and had an unbelievably hard time coping with the loss. She was When I went to France, my tour went to many, gorgeous cathedrals. I enjoyed the experience but was constantly reminded of my grandma and how much she would have enjoyed seeing my pictures and experiencing the roots of her Catholicism. As we traveled through the country with our tour, I began to light candles at every cathedral, leaving a euro or two and sending up a silent prayer for my grandma. This didn't help end my grief, in fact, it only prolonged it. I sunk into my sadness and the anticipated, nine day trip to France became a prison that I couldn't escape from. My family was an ocean away and my friends were no consolation. On the seventh day of the trip, we went to Omaha Beach and walked through the hundreds of rows of gravestones in the Normandy cemetery. Over nine-thousand soldiers were buried there, however, many of the graves were unmarked. The only identification a simple engraving, "Here rests in honored glory a comrade in arms known but to God". As I looked around, I realized that I was not the only one who was suffering. Thousands of people had cried over these graves and mourned the loss of their loved ones. Some had no graves to mourn over, only unmarked crosses and unidentified bodies. My grandma died in a hospital bed, surrounded by people that loved her. Many of these young men died on the battle field, suffering, knowing their family and friends at home would mourn them, but unable to reach across the ocean and tell their loved ones how much they loved them. The families of those young men had found their peace in France, and so did I that day. My grandma was gone, but she was not forgotten, and she certainly had company in heaven. Even now, I imagine her telling stories to all the soldiers in heaven, and I smile.