ON JUNE 6, 1994

It didn't dawn on me that it was the 50th Anniversary of D-Day until a few days before it when I was visiting friends in Holland for the first time. Having been one of those girls who had read "The Diary of Anne Frank" over and over again, and who had had uncles who fought in Europe and in the Pacific, the realization stunned me.

There is a big difference between remembering World War II when you have never been out of the U.S. and being aware of the war while in Europe . . . or in Asia . . . or on an island in the Pacific Ocean.

My friends' neighbors had been teenagers during the years that Holland was occupied by the Nazis. And though I knew many people who had been involved in the war -- both men and women, I had never met anyone who had been through the deprivation and oppression of occupation.

When I had a chance to spend some time in Amsterdam, I purchased a ticket on one of the Museum Canal Boats that included three museum stops. I chose The Rijksmuseum, the Van Gogh Museum, and the Hiding Place where the Frank families and others survived until they were taken away to concentration camps.

I have written previously about how this trip to Europe came on the heels of my daughter graduating from college and my son finishing U.S. Marine Boot Camp on the same weekend -- Mother's Day Weekend of 1994.

Their grandparents -- my folks and their Japanese Grandma Fumiko were there to celebrate both occasions. My son Tom was an Honor Grad . . . the best out of 60 guys and one of eight to be honored during the graduation parade. My daughter Krista and I sat under the awning over one section of the bleachers on the edge of the parade ground along with a bunch of Navy admirals and Marine Corps generals as well as the loved ones of the other honor grads.

That was the Thursday before Mother's Day and on the following Saturday, Krista graduated and was honored for academic achievements as well as her participation on her college's Women's Softball Team. My, we had fun!!

I had always said I would go to Europe when the kids grew up, but most of the time while planning the summer in Russia, Ukraine, Holland and England, I hadn't been thinking about my soon-to-be-empty nest at all. Probably was subconsciously trying to avoid the knowledge.

So after the celebrations, they gave me and their grandmothers cards and presents and said, "Bye, Mom! We're grown up!" No matter how prepared you think you are for that, I don't think it all the way works.

It didn't for me.

No one to cook for . . . no one to wait up for, praying . . . no one coming in with a bunch of friends to spend the weekend and "do DC" . . . a lot of "never again"

Life is full of transitions, but we often tend to think nothing changes. Or at least I do. My security sometimes lies in thinking I can keep things the way they are.

Oh, well . . .

But back to the 50th Anniversary of D-Day.

Dad and I watched "The Longest Day" again the other night because so many of the old WW II movies were on TCM.com. As time goes on, Dad seems to want to keep remembering that most intense time of his life. I don't think those of us born after the war can all the way understand why, but some of the intensity was passed on to us, for sure.

Dad's brother Ed was with General Patton's 3rd Army from two weeks after D-Day all the way to Berlin. Our Uncle Ron was not married to Dad's sister Betty until after the war, but he was one of those US citizens who flew Spitfires for the Royal Canadian Air Force out of British air bases. And our Mom's two brothers were in the U.S. Navy in the Pacific.

I can remember seeing all of their photos in uniform. And gifts they had sent home or brought back . . . decorated pillows from Hawaii and figurines from Japan . . . little music boxes in the shape of alpine huts . . . and I remember seeing the star banners that had hung in the windows of our grandparents' houses.

There have been quite a few movies made in the last twenty years or so with a new generation viewing and interpreting the war -- and some very moving personal stories that were held up until the people involved had passed away.

Yet here we are in the midst of war again . . . or still and always. As the song says, "When will we ever learn?"

But beyond that we can't honor those who fought, those who died in battle or those who came home but were never the same -- and those who were not in uniform but survived occupation, were part of the underground, or some of the millions who perished in the Holocaust or in the bombings or battles in cities and in the countryside. The former POWs, too, deserve honor and recognition.

Those of us who have never been in battle, never been incarcerated, never been oppressed, never been starving, never been refugees, never been raped, never been tortured, never suffered the loss of loved ones and homes and a way of life that will never be regained can't really truly appreciate the sacrifices and the horrors.

But we can still attempt to honor and remember those who did, whether in uniform or not.

And we can still keep working toward peace . . . toward justice . . . toward righteousness and mercy . . . against oppression . . . against violence and the threat of violence . . . against all human and every other kind of suffering.

We have our work cut out for us. Keep praying. Keep turning the prayers into action. Never forget those hosts of witnesses who are in spirit and silently reminding us what we owe and to whom.

May the Lord continue to bless and keep you and yours, Beloved. Now and always.