My Dad was across the Channel that day and for the next three days, servicing wave after wave of airplanes without sleep along with a legion of support personnel. He swore he would get breakfast in bed every June 6 for the rest of his life. My Mom obliged him for the next 20 years till he finally said, “Okay. I think I can do with breakfast in bed anymore.”
He woke for years after the war to the sound of falling bombs in his dreams.
God love him, I miss the old man. May we meet again merrily in heaven, maybe to fish the Skagit again.
If your old man is still around, tell him you love him and say thanks. These are the good old days and they will be gone before you know it.