The National Submarine Memorial in Groton, Connecticut, is a special place. It a modest, though dignified memorial that bears the names of all the submariners who perished while on active service during World War II. My uncle Laurence H. Isbell was one of those 3,000+ men. He was a legend. My grandmother talked about him often, and his images were plentiful in the family albums, so he never seemed to be far away.

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These flags fly over the entrance to the memorial. I suppose lost at sea is the same as missing in action.

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The memorial is shaped like the nose of a submarine putting out to sea down the Thames River in Connecticut.
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I tried to capture my uncle's name with the conning tower that is part of the memorial in the reflection. (I got a bit of me in there, too.)
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I suppose lost at sea is something like missing in action. My uncle's remains were never recovered. His mother never gave up hope that somehow, some way he might be found and he might come home. How does a mother stop believing?

My uncle and his brothers put it on the line because it was all they could do during that war. Many other folks I know have served in the military. They're the kind of people who always have your back. Case closed. And I like 'em an awful lot. If you're ever racing through Connecticut on Interstate 95, stop off in New London and take a few minutes at this memorial.

My World Tuesday