Spirit Matters: July – D-Day

By Marcia Rutan | July 2, 2026

Spirit Matters: July – D-Day

Photo: Aaron Burden

I was born on D-Day, five years after the end of WWII. This was never discussed as I was growing up. My father had been a Marine on Iwo Jima where he was wounded, and came home with a Purple Heart and Silver Star. This was also never talked about.

There was a hush-hush sort of atmosphere when he had a nervous breakdown when I was eight, and we drove weekly from Palmer to Anchorage so he could talk with a psychiatrist. My parents made these trips fun, including outings to the Anchorage Public Library and an ice cream shop – my father liked licorice, my mother peppermint candy, my sister strawberry or vanilla, and I liked chocolate chip mint. Sometimes we saw the latest musical movie like “The King and I” and other times we simply headed home, in those days almost an hour on the road, watch out for the moose.

But underneath the fun I sensed trouble, evidenced by a series of nightmares I had during that time.

My father never talked about the war until over 40 years later when he served as a minister at University Congregational Church in Seattle, met three other men who were also WWII veterans, and they discovered the interweaving of their war service. Their story was printed in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer 60 years after the end of WWII.

Within that community bond, my father began to open up about his experience and became a listening ear for men who had served in Vietnam. He shared the book “Flag of Our Fathers” with many people, and also wrote his own story, published on HistoryNet.

Though healing for my father, he continued to suffer over the loss of his friend who was blasted apart just as they landed on Iwo Jima. The war left a hurt that did not go away.

These memories reopened for me upon recently receiving the book “The Last of The Old Breed” (St. Martin’s Press) by Scott Davis. A Spokane historian and journalist, Scott interviewed over 130 WWII Marines from multiple battle arenas, the remnant of the generation who had served. The book is a selection of their quotes, no editing. No glorifying of war, no glossing over the terror and devastation. A profound document, these pages catch the words of elders who have now mostly died.

My father was interviewed when he was 95, and four of his quotes are included. Despite dementia, his words are clear and moving, relaying his innocence and horror.

When I opened the book I was shocked to find one of my poems used as the front page. This poem had been previously published (Persimmon, scroll down) and I remember sharing it with Scott, but had no idea it was being included. At the end of the book are quotes from descendants, and the last quote is mine.

All of this combined to stunned me to the core for several days. Seeing my words in the same pages of WWII Marines stories brought home to me how deeply I’d been affected by my father’s experience, even though he hadn’t talked about it.

Bert Rutan was a compassionate listener, a beloved minister, jokester, and a great social organizer. He lifted people up rather than languished in his sorrow. His faith in God was strong, and he gained great joy from family, neighbors, work colleagues, and community.

But he always traumatically carried the memory of his lost friend and the war. I’ve heard there is no dispelling of grief, only finding a way to live with it, and my father did this well.

I’m writing this column about D-Day and WWII because our nation is commemorating its 250^th birthday with plenty of parades and picnics, fireworks and flags – a notable anniversary of an effort by a group of people to free themselves from tyranny and taxes. If you’ve watched The American Revolution on PBS you know it was a time of chaos, warfare, death, confusion, and a purpose that slowly wove enough people in the colonies together to succeed.

Not all colonists were into the struggle. Some were loyalists, who had to flee. In my family, the Rutans stayed, and the Ruttans were the Loyalist branch that fled to Canada… so the story goes.

Our country today is at war with other countries and within itself, so this anniversary is mixed for me. I appreciate my freedom as an American, but I’m also aghast at military tactics employed within our country and against other countries for economic / political power gain.

Although WWII was necessary for the U.S. to enter, in my mind, other wars – not so much. In these times of escalating resource depletions and climate disruption, we have our work cut out for us. How do we become centers of peace and wholeness despite upheavals around us? How do I quiet my reptilian brain and seek to understand, communicate with compassion, instead of react? How do we stand together in community, embracing not only family, neighborhood, church, city, state, and country, but the whole world, including plants, animals, the very Earth we’re part of?

Carl and I subscribe to SAND and are learning indigenous views about Earth and Creator. Zaya and Maurizio Benazzo are producing 11 documentary films of different cultures including Dine (Navajo), Maori, Aina (Hawaii), Guarani Kaiowa (Brazil), plus interviewing many elders, shamans, educators, and activists.

What is most revealed is the sense of community with Mother Earth. That most of us walk around “on” Mother Earth rather than in relationship “with” Mother Earth.

Listening to indigenous people share their stories, and how their lives were upended by colonists – including the massacres and religious impositions on this continent – I examine how I maintain rigid perceptions that get in the way of being in relationship with, learning from the profound beautiful life flowing around me in myriad forms.

If we, the people, of the United States of America could find relational ground, prioritizing sacred inspiration and the necessity of Earth and community, instead of idolizing money and power or imposing religious ideologies, maybe we could ride out the accelerating storm of change with more grace, less war.

The significance of D-Day was murky to me until recently, when I finally discovered it was the turning point of WWII. A collaboration of Allies focused their campaign on France and routed the Nazis, driving the Axis back. After almost five years of terror and pain, WWII was over within a year.

I hold the possibility that a tipping point of countries and people could be gathering and rising up now, in action and prayer, to turn around the fascism and Earth destruction that fill the news. It’s slow going, but there are promising signs. I also believe that we are the people who came, at this time on Earth, to do this.