ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY - Arlington National Cemetery became America’s most hallowed burial ground when a Union officer decided in 1861 that the best place to inter Civil War dead was on the grounds of Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee’s plantation, just across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C.
The location may have originally been chosen out of spite and anger, but the decision 150 years ago means its proximity to the nation’s capital makes Arlington a must-see for anyone visiting nearby.
Visitors today come to see the grave of President John F. Kennedy and the Tomb of the Unknowns. Arlington holds the remains of more than 320,000 servicemen and women who have served in every major conflict that the U.S. has been involved in since the Civil War: the Spanish-American War, World War I, World War II, Korea, Vietnam and many smaller wars in between.
Now there is Section 60, the area set aside for servicemen and women who have died serving in Afghanistan and Iraq over the past decade.
It’s on the outskirts of the cemetery, among tombstones rarely seen by visitors. They lie far from the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns, outside of the vistas offered from Lee’s home. When you’re standing in this section of the cemetery, the graves seem to march off to the distance in neat rows, evidence of the price paid by those sworn to protect our freedom.
I visited Arlington in June to pay respects to my great-uncle Ferdinand’s grave in Section 8 at the far left side of the cemetery. He served as an Army engineer during World War II and in Korean and Vietnam. My aunt is buried next to him.
On the way back to the visitors center at the front of the cemetery, my family and I passed Section 60. Since the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks, 4,474 military personnel have died in Afghanistan and Iraq through the end of July.
Some of the graves are so new they don’t even have permanent headstones, and are instead marked with small signs with the name and plot number of the one who died.
While many of the other sections lacked flowers or tokens from families of long-dead servicemen and women, in Section 60 the flowers are fresh. Letters from children and parents and spouses have been laid on the graves, along with small memorializing stones, cans of a favorite beer, and family pictures. Some have wreaths, American flags and other mementos. Signs of a life remembered, breaking up the sea of green grass and white graves with black lettering. There was a tree with ornaments on it, a Christmas tree of sorts, decorated for the Fourth of July.
As I stood there on the edge of the graves, I watched as two parents, along with their young granddaughter, visited the grave site of their son, the young girl’s uncle. It seemed that they had spent most of the day there, as a folding chair and blanket had been set out in front of the grave along with flowers. They poured beer into the grass in front of the headstone, telling the girl that her uncle must be thirsty. They brought balloons from their car to tie around the headstone; it was his birthday that day. The man tied the balloons, the little girl sat in the chair and threw paper airplanes and together they remembered their lost loved one.
In front of the grave closest to where I was standing, there were letters that had been placed in front of the headstone of a young man who died almost five years ago. One letter was written in a childish scrawl with large, squiggly hearts surrounding the note. In the large, messy handwriting, the child apologizes to her father for not being able to visit on Father’s Day and says she misses him. A piece of paper with the words “Our Hero” had been taped to the headstone.
A headstone a few plots down had photographs. One photo showed a smiling man in his 20s, laughing and holding a beer, dressed in his uniform. Another appeared to be his high school graduation photo.
As my family and I stood there on the edge of Section 60, the invisible line that for almost 10 years separated us as U.S. citizens from what has been going on in Iraq and Afghanistan disappeared. The 7,000 miles that had originally separated us from the wars shortened to a few feet. Some of these veterans had died nearly a decade ago, but it was evident that the pain that their loved ones felt was still fresh. The flowers were still alive; the open letters that I read were only a few days old. For the couple who came to visit their son’s grave, he is still with them.
I don’t know anyone personally who has been deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan. I don’t know anyone who has died. But I was crying as I stood there on the worn grass.
Section 60 is not full. There are still long stretches of empty grass, and construction is going on across the street, bulldozers leveling more land to make space for more graves. It’s a reminder that these wars are not over.
Visiting Arlington National Cemetery for me was a way to pay my respects to those who have given up their lives for their country. A way to make sure that even though it has been 10 years since that attack on Sept. 11, they are not forgotten.
As my father said, “We owe them that.”
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