Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Could be anywhere: A mother remembers her son—lost for God and country.
Two decades after the war's end, the cemetery was still very much alive with mourn-
ing loved ones. A steady wind blew through seas of flags on the day of our visit, which ad-
ded a stirring quality to the scene. And the place was bustling with people—all mourning
their lost loved ones as if the loss happened a year ago rather than twenty. The cemetery
had a quiet dignity, and while I felt a bit awkward at first (being part of an American crew
with a big TV camera), people either ignored us or made us feel welcome.
We met two families sharing a dinner on one tomb (a local tradition). They insisted
we join them for a little food and told us their story: They met each other twenty years ago
while visiting their martyred sons, who were buried side by side. They became friends,
their surviving children married each other, and ever since then they gather regularly to
share a meal on the tombs of their sons.
A few yards away, a long row of white tombs stretched into the distance, with only
one figure interrupting the visual rhythm created by the receding tombs. It was a mother
cloaked in black sitting on her son's tomb, praying—a pyramid of maternal sorrow.
Nearby was a different area: marble slabs without upright stones, flags, or photos.
This zone had the greatest concentration of mothers. My friend explained that these slabs
