That is a touching story. I had a similarn experience myself a couple of years back. I went up to Gettysburg, and using some historical documents and laptop equipped with an Aircard, found the spot on the battlefield where my great-great-grandfather's brother was mortally wounded on the first day of the battle, and then I found the barn that was turned into a field hospital where he most likely died on the second day. In the process I learned so much history on the events surrounding his death it was amazing. His unit, the 12th Massachusetts, ambushed an advancing North Carolina regiment from behind a stone wall as they marched thru an unplanted Pennsylvania corn field, as they approached the town in search of shoes, unsuspecting that a cavalry regiment and a few infantry units had arrived as the advance units of a huge Union army that was advancing on Gettysburg from Maryland. They killed just about the entire NC regiment in one volley, leaving a gruesome scene of the dead bodies of rebel men with feet lined up in perfect marching order in front of the stone wall they hid behind - noted in the history books as one of the largest mass-casualty ambushes of the war from a single volley.
Their unit and a Pennsylvania unit held this little spit of high ground for most of the day in brutal combat, as they and other units comprising some 3,000 men delayed the entire Confederate Army of 80,000 soldiers for a crucial time period as the main Yankee Army began arriving on the battlefield. Eventually, the Confederates rolled some cannon up to a spot a little higher up on the hillside and blasted them to pieces. In the Gettysburg museum I found a book that contained first-person accounts of Gettysburg civilians, and one spoke of the horrific scene of what was left of these units streaming thru the town as they retreated to Cemetary Ridge, with the Rebels right on their heals in hot pursuit, with many of the Yankee men risking their lives to carry their wounded comrades to safety of their lines, and as I read it, it really struck me that one of these men was carrying my great-uncle.
The trip to the field hospital, if you can call that butcher shop a hospital was extremely disturbing. It was well appointed with actual pictures of piles of arms and legs sawed off without anesthesia or antiseptic, and display cases full of the instruments of butchery that saved as many as they killed, and once again, I was filled with sadness as I realized how this time-distant unknown relative of mine had most likely died in what was probably un-imaginable suffering in this horrific place. At the end of the day, I went to a flower shop and bought a wreath, and ended up placing it at the monument that marked the site where this small episode in the greatest battle ever fought on this continent took place, and I wept for him.