Normandie
On December 8th, 1941, the day after Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and just a few weeks after his 18th birthday, with the permission of his father, the son of Danish immigrants went down to the Army Recruitment Center in Inglewood, CA and enlisted. His older brother, Robert, would be deployed to the Pacific. His younger brother, William, wanted very much to follow his brothers into war, but he was still in training at Fort Bragg by the time World War II ended. Raymond probably didn't know that enlisting would take him all over Western Europe. He probably didn't know he'd be gone for 3 years. I imagine he just knew that it felt like the right thing to do.
He entered a branch of the Army that up to that point in time had never been used. He was trained to jump from a plane, suspended by a parachute, in order to land behind enemy lines. He served with H Company, in the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, of the 82nd Airborne Division. On June 4th, 1944, at 20 years of age, he found himself sitting in an airplane, the 11th man in line, ready to depart for a top-secret mission. At the last minute, the mission was delayed due to fog over the English Channel. The next night, at around 10:00 pm, Raymond's plane departed England. At around 1:00 am on June 6th, 1944, D-Day, he jumped into the darkness and chaos that was Normandy, France. His plane and its crew were destroyed shortly after he jumped.
Raymond, far right, Quorn, England, Feb 1944
I first heard about Raymond from my mom when I was quite young. He was her uncle, my grandfather William's older brother. That made him my great-uncle. I don't remember what prompted the first letter, but for some reason I wrote to him when I was 7. Perhaps it was a school assignment because in one of the first letters I received back, he starts the letter with, "Dear Kristin, Thank you for your letter. It just happens that Ben Franklin is one of my favorite people. Of all the men who made our revolution and our country, he is the one I would most like to have a chat with, in front of the cast-iron wood stove he designed, and which is still being made and used." Perhaps I had been learning about Ben Franklin or maybe I was supposed to ask him about an historical figure he'd like to meet. That sounds like a school assignment. Regardless the reason, he became my pen pal.
I wonder if it would make my uncle smile to know that I now live in the "city that Ben built" and attended the university he started.
Over the course of a few years, my uncle would send me letters, cards, a book about cats, and a puppet set. I'm so curious to know what my 7 and 8-year old letters said. All I have are what he sent back to me. We talked a lot about cats. He, like my grandfather and my mother, loved cats, and so did I. He told me about his favorite cat, Samantha. I must have told him about the cat my parents had since before I was born because he sent me this card when our beloved kitty died.
Of all the things my uncle gave me, the card that sticks out to me most was a Christmas card he sent. It was a beautiful card made of white paper doves. In it he wrote, "The best is yet to come. Love, Uncle Ray"
I don't know how much he knew about our circumstances at the time. Perhaps my grandparents filled him in on my parents' divorce. I can't remember if I wrote anything about it in one of my letters. But I do know that some of the saddest moments of my life occurred when I was 7 and 8. And those words were the best thing he could have written to me.
There's so much I don't know about him. I actually never even met him in person. He lived in southern California and I grew up in northern. There was one time I came close. My grandfather's retirement party took place at my aunt's house in southern California and he was supposed to attend but called on his way over saying he had a flat tire. He died a few years later.
I'm sure he was a regular guy with his own faults like all of us. But to my 7-year old self he was a hero. I didn't even know that he had already jumped into several battles before Normandy and that there were other jumps after D-Day. I didn't yet know about the grueling Battle of the Bulge. I didn't realize that after 3 years of serving in Europe and coming home to attend art school in Chicago, he was soon called back into service in Korea. As if he hadn't done enough yet. I didn't know what Silver Stars or Purple Hearts or Presidential Medals of Honor were, or that he received one of each.
I just knew that he was very brave, that for some reason he took an interest in my life, and that he was very, very kind.
I'm still not sure what he meant when he wrote the best was yet to come. Perhaps he was speaking from his own experience. He had been married and had a daughter, my mother's cousin. For reasons I don't know, around the time he was serving in the Army, his wife decided to marry someone else and he lost contact with his daughter. He tried very hard to find her and wrote letters to her once he thought he found her address. She never received them. Decades later she found out about her dad and was able to locate him. They had ten years together before he died. So for him, the best eventually did come.
Perhaps he meant what my grandmother (his sister-in-law) meant at her funeral a few years ago. Before she died, she left fairly detailed instructions for the party she wanted us to throw to celebrate her life. It was meant to be huge and happy. But she also left very specific instructions for a small service that she wanted for those closest to her. After the main service and before the party, the smaller group of her family and closest friends gathered around the pastor as he laid her ashes to rest in a small courtyard at her church. He passed out forks to each of us and told a story about a banquet where the guests were told to save their forks while the main course was being cleared away because dessert, "the best", was still to come. As I held the fork I thought about my grandma enjoying the very best of heaven, and I thought of my Uncle Ray, and wondered if that's what his words meant.
Either way, I held onto those words through the divorce that lasted a very long time. And I still hold onto them, hopeful of the best that is yet to come at the end of this life.
Years after the last letter was signed between me and my uncle, my mom and step-dad took me and my sister and step-brother to Europe. I had just finished my sophomore year of high school. We started in England and took a ferry one night, crossing the English Channel, and arriving in Normandy early the next morning. It was June but I don't remember any fog. Normandy was absolutely beautiful. Our first night there we slept in a castle. For dinner we ate delicious cheese and bread and fresh cherries and chocolate and drank wine on the patio at dusk. I have wonderful memories of Normandy. It was the first place where I laid eyes on and stepped foot in the country that came to mean a lot to me years later when I studied in Grenoble during college. Normandy was my first taste of France that left me wanting more.
These are pages of Normandy from the scrapbook I made for the trip in 1999
In my little French city, 2003
When Ben and I were deciding on her name, we couldn't come to an agreement about the spelling. I preferred the French spelling (-ie), he preferred what he referred to as the "normal" spelling (-y). After he saw me give birth to our child, he said I could spell it however I wanted.
My Uncle Ray was born on November 23rd, the same day my husband was born. He died on January 16th, the same day that my labor began. For several hours that day, I thought Normandie would enter the world the same day he left it. As it were, she took her time in arriving and was born the next day, the same day her Grammy (Ben's mom) was born, which was incredibly special too.
If I could write him one more letter, there's a lot I would want him to know. I would start off telling him about living in Philadelphia and all the Ben Franklin knowledge we've acquired. I would include some funny stories and pictures of our cats, Peter and Lucy. Best of all, I could tell him about Normandie. I would ask him if that was the right name to honor him with. We don't want people to think about war when they hear her name. I would tell him that we chose it because of his courage, because of the sacrifice he made so that many could be free. And because he taught me, as a little 7-year old experiencing the pain of my broken family, that even someone who had suffered much could still be incredibly kind.
I'd tell him that we pray for Normandie to grow into a courageous and kind person, just like her great-great-Uncle Ray.
(The next post will be about the special person behind her middle name but for now I think this is quite long enough!)
