Seeing this imposing monument with a pillar representing each state and territory, and the flags, and flowers and other tokens left by the families of those who have since died, brought home the enormity of the sacrifices made by my father’s generation.

The pictures I had seen appeared somewhat sterile and unfeeling. The real thing was anything but.

The 400 stars each represented 1,000 servicemen and women who died during the war. The “rope” connecting the pillars of each state symbolized the unity of purpose. The fountain added life.

And although it’s made from tons and tons of granite, the memorial is alive.

I was there to report on the local veterans who were going to this most important dedication.

But I also wanted to go to honor my father.

He, like thousands of other Mainers, like those I was covering on this trip that started and would end in Rumford, served in World War II.

Like thousands of others, he left his small town to fulfill his duty to his nation. He did so mostly serving in the China-Burma-India Theater, and then he came home after 4 years in the service to start a family.

Three years ago, he died.

About 1,100 World War II veterans die each day. That statistic made it so much more important that this memorial be dedicated.

If my father were alive now, he would have been absolutely thrilled that I was going to Washington, and if he had been able, he would have gone, too.

Every year when I decorate his grave, and the graves of other members of my family in my town’s cemetery on Memorial Day, I see more and more bright, new American flags marking the graves of more and more service men and women who have died since the year before.

My father spoke often of his military experiences in India, in South Africa, the United States during the war. He spoke, too, of childhood friends who had joined when the time came, but who never came back.

He didn’t think his service, or that of the millions who served was especially noteworthy. Of course he honored those who were in battle. But the men and women of that generation took it pretty much in stride.

Duty called and you went.

Or if you were on the home front, you took care to conserve food and fuel and to help out in the war effort. I still have fuel and sugar stamps that my grandmother had.

The hundreds of people who visited the nation’s World War II Memorial on Sunday, the day after its dedication, were quiet and respectful, not what you usually find when so many people gather together. Veterans were there with their spouses and middle-aged children, and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

And those veterans, even those with the most bravado, were quiet. They were thinking back to their own war years, of the sacrifices made, of what a huge thing this memorial was. Although hundreds of towns across the country have World War II memorials of their own, the nation had finally given them their much-deserved recognition.

It was an emotional time, although most wouldn’t admit it. Somewhere buried within these brave soldiers were deep emotions. The quietude and solemnity was written on their faces.

(Eileen Adams reports from the Sun Journal’s Rumford bureau. Her dad, the late Charles N. Adams of Wilton, served as a quartermaster for the U.S. Army during World War II.)

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