British War Memorial Visit
Today began as a warm morning with the heat creating droplets of sweat on our heads as we made our way to the British War Memorial in Rome. I was trying to ignore the mosquito bites that were forming large red irritating bumps along my legs. My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden halt of our group staring at the padded gate and pebbled path ahead of us. This place looked inviting, unlike the cold graveyard I went to when it was Halloween and I played hide-and-seek as a ten-year-old. The memorial had short freshly cut light green grass and neat rows of headstones, with the sunlight casting a diagonal shadow over the tombstones of fallen warriors. It was clearly well kept and preserved like everything in Rome. Long trees towered over the headstones giving shade to us as we walked around. I always think it’s interesting how plants grow from things that have died, so in a way the trees are the dead too.
As I walked around the memorial, I slowed my pace enough to read some of the epitaphs of the men and women who had died. I had mindlessly become numb to how many people were laying here, until I came upon one tomb which dated the man’s death as, “28th February 1944, age 19.” I kneeled down before the tomb and stayed frozen in that spot. I was shocked cold to the bone realizing that this man died the age that I was now and on the date of my birthday. I kept staring at the tombstone hoping that I had read something wrong. I hadn’t. Someone passed in the row in front of me encouraging me to continue my walk down the row. I paused at the next tombstone surprised again, another man died February 28th but this time he was 20. It was then as I stepped back to look at the row of headstones before me that I noticed most of the men lying where I stood had all died young and on February 28. I understood why the memorial sought visitors to this sight, they wanted us to realize soldiers sacrificed not only their bodies but the lives that they should have lived. I stood there until the group was told to make our way out of the memorial. Even though I was leaving, I knew that I would still be thinking of the place as if I was still standing there. As my director said in class, the entire trip consisted of monuments and churches where the dead lay, but these people were famous artists or saints, they weren’t ordinary people like the ones that had their fate sealed on a battlefield. I may not know anyone who has fought in wars, but I do know what it’s like to lose someone we love too early.