Dear Mom e-Letter

Volume 2, Issue 10
The Bridge Called Mom
September 2007

Dear Reader,

The collapse of 35W in Minneapolis this summer spotlighted the critical role bridges play in our lives.  When the bridge collapsed, suddenly, without warning, cars, trucks and a school bus were hurled, dropped and tossed like toys.  Some fell 60 feet and landed on concrete, some fell in the rushing waters of the Mississippi River.

Bridges are critical because they offer us a means of moving from one place to another.  They bridge a gap, literally, as the 35W bridge provided a way from one side of the river to another, as well as metaphorically, in the changes we face in this journey called life.  When either type of a bridge collapses, it creates a hole and causes instant chaos for those most affected.

I believe our moms are critical bridges in our lives.  Moms give us life, guide us through childhood, and then through the painful transitions from teenagers to young adults.  Then Moms serve as a bridge to our adulthood where their patience is rewarded with the opportunity to sit back and enjoy the fruit of all their hard work.

I recently had such an experience.  My husband and I flew to Clarksville, Tennessee, to spend time with our daughter and son-in-law before Dave re-deploys to Iraq in October.  My other daughter and her family joined us, and for 24 hours, we were, for the first time ever and for the last time until Dave returns, together as a family, eating, playing cards, laughing, splashing in the pool, hiking in a park.

It was perfect.  With great joy I watched my sons-in-law get to know each other, laughing over getting kicked out of a Chinese buffet for eating only chicken, no vegetables, and then discovering they both like Survivor Man, a show unknown to the rest of us.  I savored the laughter over 16-month old Faith walking the 12-week old puppy, determined he would follow, grunting when he didn’t.  I smiled, hiking uphill slowly, in sweat induced by Tennessee humidity as Dave informed me that next time, he and I will run the trail.

I laughed as six adults, tolerating my need for a family photo, smiled, trying to keep two small children and a puppy gathered in their arms.  We sat on the couch waiting for the timer and flash to record the perfect family photo: squirms, smiles and a lot of leg.

It was perfect.  I wouldn’t change a thing, except for the reason we gathered, which meant a few tears on the flight home.  Wiping my eyes as we approached the Minneapolis airport, I looked out the window, surprised to be looking directly over downtown.  There it was: the gap left by 35W, an aerial view of a bridge no longer there.  

Losing the Mom who guides your life is like seeing the gap left by the bridge that’s no longer there.  You knew life only with the bridge called Mom.  Her death, sudden or not, exposes a huge hole. 

We fill the hole, in part, by becoming the bridge in our own families.  By looking back and realizing the many times we served as a bridge for our own children, and now our grandchildren.  And we smile, knowing that’s exactly your purpose in life.

Bridges aren’t perfect, and neither are moms.  But they don’t have to be, and neither do we.  We just need to be real, to simply be there, and enjoy every blessing of every moment, because we never know when it’s the last time on the journey.

Dear Mom: Remembering. Celebrating. Healing. is a story of a mom who was a bridge for me for 34 years.  Think of all the times your mom served as your bridge, and think of all the times you served as a bridge for your family.  I hope the journey of memories brings many smiles to your faces.

Enjoy the journey called Dear Mom!

Dee Dee