Remembrance of the Dead

Yesterday was a special day for us.
On the Fourth of may, our country commemorates the victims of the second world war.
For as long as I can remember, I would watch the solemn ceremony at the Waalsdorpervlakte (Plains of Waalsdorp), near the Hague where I grew up. It has been my wish for years already to go there on the fourth of May and pay my respects to those brave men and women who gave their lives for my freedom.
Yesterday was that day. We arrived at the Waalsdorpervlakte by six, spent a couple of hours waiting, until finally around half seven the silent walk to the momument began.






Being there, in that place, where so many people were executed, meant a lot to me - even though I was born years after the war. Because even though I was never in the war, the war has always been in me. Through all the stories my mother and grandmother told me, the pain I have seen in my relatives lives, in their eyes... it's always been a part of me. And it will be, forever.
I was in awe, as if I were standing on sacred ground - which, in a sense, I was of course.