I loved this story. There was a very similar rusted bridge in my childhood. When we were driving from our home to the farm where we lived before my dad passed we would use the bridge because it was the shortcut. I was afraid to cross that bridge for a very long time. because it was so rickety. And then, one time on a crossing I looked down at the creek and I saw my dad, my brothers, and me fishing from the bank of the creek and drinking Cokes. I was 2 years old when my dad passed, but the memory was real and rich for me. It was a comfort then and the memory of that feeling will always be a comfort to me. Rusted bridges hold a precious history for so many of us.
I loved this story. There was a very similar rusted bridge in my childhood. When we were driving from our home to the farm where we lived before my dad passed we would use the bridge because it was the shortcut. I was afraid to cross that bridge for a very long time. because it was so rickety. And then, one time on a crossing I looked down at the creek and I saw my dad, my brothers, and me fishing from the bank of the creek and drinking Cokes. I was 2 years old when my dad passed, but the memory was real and rich for me. It was a comfort then and the memory of that feeling will always be a comfort to me. Rusted bridges hold a precious history for so many of us.
Very moving story, Kathi.