The memory of the righteous is a blessing. —Proverbs 10:7 (ESV)
My son, Henry, burst through the front door and announced, “My school bus will be the last one to ever cross Madalin Bridge! It’s true!” he said. “The bus driver said so.” Lasts are always bittersweet. You wouldn’t think a person could be sad and sentimental over a bridge, but this almost-hundred-year-old bridge that stretches over Stony Creek has played a large role in my life. I’ve literally crossed this bridge a thousand times.
Years ago my sister Maria held my small hand and pointed out that the town never fixed the dam that broke. The day after she died, I looked at what was left of the crumbling stone wall, feeling just as broken.
For many years I trekked over the bridge every single day to go to the candy store, piano lessons, or church, or to jog to the river—the list is long and tracks my entire life. My father used to drop a stick on one side, and we watched our little makeshift boat disappear underfoot and reappear on the other sidane, a trick I later shared with my sons.
My son Solomon and I walked over the bridge tonight, the last night before the barricade is put in place. We took turns taking each other’s picture standing on it. I touched the rock edges and thought of the long walks and many worries that bridge carried me over—from high school tests to grieving losses—and then the happy times of pushing newborn Henry to show him off to the neighborhood. “Goodbye, bridge,” I said, patting the old stone wall. “You served us well.”
Heavenly Father, guide me to see change as a blessing, a bridge that connects our beautiful memories to gifts the future holds.
