The Bridge

I just wanted to 'run away' for a few days. Take some time for myself between transitioning myself 'out of the old and into the new'. Time to be quiet and put some physical distance between me and life-as-I-know-it.

I drove down roads that I have travelled more times than I can recall. A five hour drive to a place that was once home.

I moved there with my parents when I was nine years old. I moved away when I was 27. It was my home for 18 years.

I have travelled that road for 42 years of my life. With my parents, with my husband, with my children, with my sisters and recently, I have travelled that road alone.

Forty two years of memories.

But what memory knocked me over like a ton of bricks on my most recent trip back 'home'? The Borden Bridge.

Dad and I made the trip one time. Just the two of us. I can't remember what we talked about. I can't remember how old I was. I just remember ... it was just Dad and me.

The only vivid memory that I have, is that we picked up our local AM radio station until the Borden Bridge. We carried that radio wave with us for most of our trip. It had never happened before. It didn't happen again. It was nothing. It was just one of those little memories that has stayed with me ever since.

Yesterday? I looked at that bridge as I drove past ... and I cried.

I miss my dad. I'm grateful for triggers that take me back in time. Who knew that such a simple moment would mean so much one day?