My grandfather landed at Normandy, after having already made his way through North Africa and Italy. He did not speak of it often. His retelling of the beach landing went something like this (paraphrased)

I was in the third wave onto the beach. The tide was low, and the beach stretched forever. Most everybody who came out of the boats before us was dead. There was no way to reach the seawall. Me and some of my buddies laid in the sand behind the piles of bodies. After I don't know how long, two Brit cruisers showed up and blew those bunkers to hell. When we got to the top of the seawall, most of the Germans were dead. The rest just surrendered.

He split time in the European Theatre three ways between being a minesweeper, graves registration, and a lineman (which was his job before and after the war.) Four+ years over there. Came home, went back to work for GTE, retired 40 years later.