I have been around for eons dancing with the moon. She and I have an ebb and flow like the dance partners that we are. It seems that despite the music playing around us, we have our own song. People drive long distances to hear it. It causes them to frolic and play. Before long, sometimes unbeknownst to themselves, they sing along. They find the rhythm and enter into it with us and it brings us great joy. Children dancing in my surf. People riding my swells for the fun of it. Sea creatures swimming in my depths. So much joy in the greatness of my unlimited borders.

However, not every day has been a joyful one. There have been days when our song is a dirge. A lament. When my waves have washed to shore carrying the dead. My waters stained with the blood of the fallen. Today is the memory of one such day. A blustery day. Gray clouds covered the sun. Fear blew on the wind. Thousands of watercrafts slid through the 3-foot swells on choppy seas. The moon was anxious. Our dance sped up. The tide raced. We danced at a desperate pace.

Before dawn, men loaded boats. My cold waters slapped them awake. My tempest brought their minds fully into the moment. A defining moment. A weather-dependent moment. A moment that could go either way. The apprehension was palatable. The terror, pushed down for the cause of freedom. Freedom for all.

As they approached the shores, bullets fell like hail. The clamor of the morning became a cacophony of horrible sounds. I rolled them forward into the din. I carried them as best I could to the beaches. The surf was bleeding. The foam stained the sand crimson. The bodies became stepping stones to the cliffs. They ran. For their lives. And for yours. Their determination was extraordinary, even to my ancient eyes. A race to their deaths, so a few could make it through the fray; so, freedom could come to those they had never met. Those from foreign shores, in a strangle hold with evil winning at every turn.

From my vantage point, I watched them mount the cliffs and run into battle. I let them go, and I tended to those left with me for safe keeping. I tried to sing my joyful song, so they would remember childhood days on holiday in the surf. I cradled them and let them cry into my waters. I whispered to their memories while the storm raged around them. I held many of them until they breathed their last. I tried to gently push them to the coast so they could be remembered.

Of all the tragedy that took place on that day, I remember most their tears. The saltiness of each one, falling into the depths. Blending into the unfathomable vast waters that make me who I am. The blood washed away with the waves. The bodies were removed and buried on the hill. Over time, the sand even went back to white. But the tears remain within me. Even today, on this 81^st anniversary of D-day. The day the tide turned…literally.

I hope never to bear witness to a human heartbreak of this magnitude again.  I much prefer dancing with the moon in joyful song. But the bravery of that day will be with me always. So many countries represented, fighting for those who were trapped in the grip a narcissistic maniac. They stood together. They fought alongside each other. They gave up their own lives for those unknown to them. It was a lesson in sacrifice.

Now when my waves beat upon the shores, their tears are among them. They still cry for all the bloodshed, for their friends, and for those they left behind. Their tears whisper with every breaking wave…remember, remember, remember.