I find it apt to talk about lives which people remember. Especially those of the Second World War many of whom died in the transition of people leaving home and to a new place. Of soldiers who died and no body found, yet.
To me the greatest myth is the myth that everyone who is not "big" does not lead a life extraordinary. They do. To their family, friends and neighbours.
The myth which broke for me was the simple act of interviewing family members for their memories of the people who died during the Second World War.
I found myself amazed at how much people remembered of a nineteen year old brother, a father, a young son. A forty Year old father. Men who died and pictures which though faded held so much more.
Their lives are remembered after all.
The best is the memorial to some of them which was found in Germany. So many stories and so many lives, and Transylvania found a way to honour her sons.
The best reality of all.
To me the greatest myth is the myth that everyone who is not "big" does not lead a life extraordinary. They do. To their family, friends and neighbours.
The myth which broke for me was the simple act of interviewing family members for their memories of the people who died during the Second World War.
I found myself amazed at how much people remembered of a nineteen year old brother, a father, a young son. A forty Year old father. Men who died and pictures which though faded held so much more.
Their lives are remembered after all.
The best is the memorial to some of them which was found in Germany. So many stories and so many lives, and Transylvania found a way to honour her sons.
The best reality of all.
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