For every day that ends up a "lost day" to travel and events like in Massachusetts, it seems I have amazingly good days to more than make up for them. Today I've been in Gettysburg, PA. It has been a day loaded with a sense of history and humanity. From the moment I got into the shuttle van to take me from camp to the visitor center, I was immersed in both.
My shuttle driver and I were engaged in some good conversation that somehow led to the idea of war. He was a Vietnam veteran who totally understands what we are going through as a country now from the perspective of one who spent a year of his life in another unpopular war. We wondered about how we can ever begin to think we can make a difference in places where war has been fought for centuries, and yet sometimes war seems to be a necessary evil. Our conversation was a good tone-setter for my day of visiting the sight of a terrible war - one that was unavoidable at that point in history, but that wreaked havoc on so many lives. The Civil War cannot begin to compare with what we are engaged in now as a country, but it is a reminder of what can drive brother to fight against brother, and how much pain can result.
Our tour guide on the bus was excellent. She had been a Civil War buff for years, even before moving here to Gettysburg. What was good about her, was that she brought in so many human stories along with facts of the battle itself. The jealousy and rivalries between Generals that led to critical decisions and outcomes of battles, the struggles of young men who were fighting against people who were sometimes related to them and often old friends, and the ways that the people of Gettysburg were drawn into this crucial and decisive battle quite by accident.
I cannot imagine what it was like for those people to have soldiers running through their streets, bringing war into their homes. I cannot imagine walking out of my house and seeing the side of it riddled with bullet holes, as some of them still are. And yet, these people opened their homes to take in the wounded from both sides, knowing that they were all brothers, despite the color of their uniforms. Their blood ran red whether they were wearing blue or grey.
I was also profoundly affected by my walk through the cemetery, and seeing all those rows of graves, almost have of them marked "unknown." Someone knew them. Someone missed them. Someone loved them and wondered where their bodies were laid to rest.
War is a terrible thing, and yet such a constant part of life. It may look different now than it did then, but it will always be taking place somewhere in this world. And there will always be someone who is "unknown" to the ones who find his or her body, but who will be missed.
In contrast, next to the National Soldiers Cemetery, there was another one that had community members buried there. The large, ornate monuments spoke a world of difference about those lives compared to the flat, identical headstones of the soldiers. Makes me wonder about how we are remembered - with large ornate monuments, or by our stories.
We cannot forget the stories, because all of our stories are intertwined. Everyone's story affects the world, for good or for bad. I hope that my story will be more good than bad.
