I wonder if they would like to be remembered in this way. Their wall stands in a grove along the river bank and on this day they are commemorated in a ceremony of touching simplicity. A chime tolls for each name as it is read aloud. The ceremony takes several hours. The wall is inscribed on both sides and time is needed to pay respects to all the fallen. Few gather to mark the occasion and most in attendance have come out of curiosity, a precious few to bear witness. Tucked among them, you'll find an occasional face newly etched with sorrow and bearing the loss of tomorrows that will never be. They are here to mourn and heal. Others are here to reflect. They have been given the gift of freedom by the faceless warriors whose names etch this wall. They search for appropriate words. There are none.
