Bridges

One of my earliest memories was going to a birthday party and all the children running around in the front, landscaped garden.  There was a small bridge over a small pond and as the other girls bounded over the bridge in their party dresses, I followed close behind.  As I ran across, my foot slipped into the pond and my pretty new shoe filled with water and I quietly squelched forward, lingering further behind with embarrassment.  I have memories of my dad and brothers running along the wooden piers that stretched out into the ocean.  I would follow and notice the rotted boards, peering between the cracks to the deep blue sea below, wondering what menacing sea creatures lurked below the surface of the water.  Gingerly, I would make my way towards them, the smell of seaweed and fish filling the air, the sound of fish flopping around in buckets while another man pulled his fishing line up, with a "Look at the size of this mighty fish!" 

When I had just turned 5, a bridge in Victoria collapsed and thirty-five construction workers were killed.  I don't know when I realised I had a fear of bridges and piers but it was certainly something I grew up with and I would avoid them as often as I could.  When I was a teenager, my head filled with boys, summer and beaches, the youth group would go along to the beach for a picnic and out in the water, was a wooden structure that we'd swim out to and dive off.  But that wasn' t a bridge really, so I enjoyed being a part of that.

In 2002, we went to the swinging bridge at Kootenai Falls, Montana and while Dave led everyone across the raging river on the swinging bridge, I stayed on the track watching them.  They waved, I waved back.  They beckoned and I shook my head firmly because I had seen Dave make that swinging bridge swing wildly and with my fear of bridges, I refused to heed their invitation.  After they were back on my side of the bridge, they headed back up the track towards the car park and I lingered near the bridge.  Dave must have sensed my hesitation and waited to see what I would do.  The challenge was in his eyes and as I looked at him and looked at the bridge, for a moment I wavered.  I asked him if he would cross it with me and he agreed with a bright smile.  For a moment I trusted him and then I looked at the bridge, the river and reminded myself of what I had just seen when he had crossed over the bridge and we went and caught up to the rest of the group.

Years later, Dave and I went back to that bridge, with his daughter Liz.  Dave crossed ahead first and when he was almost at the other side, we followed behind him.  On the other side, there were more things to explore, rocks to climb and waters to splash in. The sun shone down on us and we were able to walk back across the bridge at the same time, my fear of bridges almost diminished.  I felt satisfied that I had had the courage to walk across the swinging bridge. 

After Dave passed away, Liz and I went to the swinging bridge again, with my son Nathan, his girlfriend and a couple of other people.  For Liz and I, we were remembering that day a couple years ago and we were also honouring Dave with our courage, but it still wasn't a 'stroll in the park'.  On our way back, we stopped in the middle of the bridge and took a photo of ourselves, with the sun beaming into our eyes.

Bridges.  I will never forget the day I crossed the swinging bridge with Dave nor how much he encouraged me to take up challenges and succeed.