Thank you Private Nuzzo: Finding meaning in June 6, 1944 and putting faith in them ... and us

I do not know the man buried here -- PFC Frank Nuzzo from Pennsylvania -- but two summers ago I stood in front of this marker inside the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial near Colleville-sur-Mer, France. That day, June 30, 2014, I was blessed with the opportunity to walk around the hallowed cemetery which overlooks Omaha Beach.

PFC Frank Nuzzo's headstone

I remember that I wanted to find the markers of soldiers who'd been killed on June 6, 1944 ... D-Day. It didn't take long before I found Private Nuzzo, and when I did I just stood there, quietly. I tried to picture what he might've looked like and what his life must've been like before being sent halfway around the world to give his life for a great and noble cause.

As trite as it may sound, I was filled with emotion as I stood there in utter amazement. There were lots of people milling around the grounds that day, but I swear nobody was speaking above a whisper. And because it was so quiet -- so peaceful -- I glanced around to make sure I was alone in front of Private Nuzzo.

"Thank you," I said. "You don't know me and I don't know you, but ... thanks."

I'm not sure what else I could've said, but I imagine that "thank you" was enough.

Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial

My efforts to pay tribute to D-Day have now yielded a nice little story that, sadly, is more about me than the brave young man who gave his life to affect the course of history.

But this absolutely isn't about me ... or you. It's about them ... and us.

By "them" I mean incredibly brave soldiers and their families, like the Nuzzos, who made incredible sacrifices for a greater good. Truly, it was the greatest generation because, instinctively, they seemed to grasp something subsequent generations either couldn't or wouldn't.

They believed in something bigger and more important than themselves.

This brings me to us. And by "us" I mean those generations that followed The Greatest. The easy play would be to make the pious claim that in a misguided effort to find ourselves we lost our moral compass.

Maybe we have. Maybe we haven't.

Omaha Beach in June of 2014

But, really, it's pretty easy to point an accusatory finger at someone else ... at others among "us." The much tougher decision is look inwardly and ask the question, "What do I believe in, and is it bigger than me?"

See, I think Frank Nuzzo's generation didn't have to do that because on that instinctive level they always knew the answer. As for the rest of us, we were taught -- and rightfully so -- that we could be whatever we wanted, all we had to do was believe in ourselves. Unfortunately, even the best advice gets lost in generational translation and somewhere along the way "become whatever you want" and "believe in yourself" devolved into "I'm entitled to everything" and "trust no one because everyone's got an agenda."

And just like that, America lost a lot of humanity. 

A storefront in the town of Normandy, France

Oh we still believe in causes and ideals that are bigger than ourselves, but too often we do so for selfish reasons, believing not in a greater good but in making "the other side" pay a price for what we suppose are misguided beliefs.

Frank Nuzzo and many others just like him paid the ultimate price for an effort that, at once, sought to promote freedom while eradicating oppression. They put their faith in a greater good and in doing so they put their faith in each other.

The way I see it, the best way to truly honor that sacrifice is to believe in something bigger than yourself and understand that freedom works best when we have faith not only in ourselves, but in humanity.