In 1999 I took a AAA tour to Paris, Normandy, and Brittany. Our tour guide didn't speak French (!), so the bus driver and I did all necessary conversing with the locals. On our way to the Normandy American Cemetery, an older gentleman in our group sat down beside me and said, "Since you speak French, will you help me find my brother? He's buried there." I said of course I would. When we arrived, he and I went to the welcome center and I explained all this to a very nice attendant. Now she spoke English, but I still did the talking. I didn't feel he should have to. She looked up his brother's name and found his grave. Within a minute, we were on a golf cart and were driven to the site. The attendant had a bucket of dark wet sand, which she rubbed onto the face on the gravestone, filling in the letters and numbers. The gravestones are white and the lettering is carved into the stone, and is very hard to see in a photograph. The dark sand makes it much easier to read. After a silent prayer, we took some pictures and she asked us to stand by. She signaled someone and the carillon began to play Taps. Everyone stopped, there was not another sound. After it was over, she took us back to the welcome center and gave him some documentation. Their treatment of us was first rate. I still get emotional every time I tell this story. Can you imagine? After 55 years, finally seeing where your brother was laid to rest? I'm so grateful that I could share the experience with him. It's a very special memory.