Recognizing the price of freedom.

• Author: Osman, Edith G.
• Position: President's Page

On March 18th, coincidentally my birthday, I spent the day visiting the site of the D-Day invasions at Colleville-sur-Mer (Omaha Beach), Pointe du Hue, Viervillesur-Mer (Utah Beach) and the American Cemetery on the coast of Normandy in France. I had traveled to France to spend some time with the Real Property, Probate and Trust Law Section, which, under the chairmanship of Tom Smith of Pensacola, had planned an executive council meeting in Paris. (This should make the section membership double immediately.)

My fiance, Steve, has always been fascinated by World War II, so we decided to spend the two days prior to the meeting in Normandy. He had read Tom Brokaw's recent books, The Greatest Generation and The Greatest Generation Speaks. Brokaw actually decided to write his first book while talking to World War II veterans who had traveled to France on June 16, 1994, to revisit the shores that claimed their comrades to commemorate the 50th Anniversary of D-Day. We wanted to retrace their steps.

Before we left we read articles about the invasion and sections of books about the war. We even rented movies including The Longest Day and Saving Private Ryan--Stephen Spielberg's brilliant and overwhelming reminder that not too long ago nearly 10,000 sons, brothers and fathers died to protect the freedoms most of us take for granted. But still, no book or film could have prepared me for the impact of the visit itself.

Our first stop was Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery. As we walked along the narrow path at the top of the bluff, the beach seemed peaceful and serene. But soon we came upon a scene I will never forget: Rising before us was an immaculate emerald lawn marked by 9,387 precisely aligned white marble crosses and Stars of David--monuments to the nearly 10,000 young men who perished during the morning of June 6, 1944.

I was surprised by the intensity of my response to that sea of headstones. I could picture the Germans at the top of the bluffs firing down as thousands of young men fell while others waded to shore through icy waters. I could hear the gunfire and the explosions. And I could hear the sobs of thousands of parents, wives, girlfriends and children who would never see their loved ones again.

That night I called home to share the experience with an old friend. I made the mistake of asking what was new in Miami. Predictably, she told me about the people in Miami fighting a decidedly different battle, this one over "Elian"--the most...