Every day I drive to work across Flint River bridge
A hundred yards from the spot where me and grandpa fished
There’s a piece of his old fruit stand on the side of Sawmill Road
He’d be there peelin’ peaches if it was twenty years ago
And what I wouldn’t give
To ride around in that old truck with him
11 Months to the day and almost to the hour ago we were driving across this bridge listening to the Serial Podcast while heading home from the beach when my phone rang. I almost didn’t answer it when I saw it was my Dad. The Podcast was getting very interesting and we were seconds from heading into the tunnel taking us deep below the water that surrounded us.
I had literally just remarked to Paul that the water “looked angry”. White caps dotted the surface and visible waves crashed against the shoreline that just a week earlier had looked inviting.
“Mag, I’m so sorry. Your Mom, she’s gone.” to which I replied with the only thing that came to mind, “what?”
The tunnel that previous gave me such anxiety to enter was rapidly approaching and as always in a stressful or emergent situation, I went into hyper-planning mode. Who is there with you? Where is Tori (my sister)? I will call someone to come wait with you… and the signal disappeared as the whirlwind of grief settled in.
I’ve always been one to remember places, times, and dates. Where I was, who I was with, even what I was wearing when major events happened. This brings me both comfort and increased anxiety to see or do somethings now as an adult.
I knew that I would be crossing that same bridge today for the first time since my Mom passed away. I slept restlessly and had a bad dreams and as we passed the road sign that read “LAST EXIT BEFORE TUNNEL” I did my best to turn my head and try not to cry. As the radio signal returned as we resurfaced I recognized immediately the song that was playing. It is one that has brought me to tears dozens of times since that horrible day last September.
If heaven wasn’t so far away
I’d pack up the kids and go for the day
Introduce them to their grandpa
Watch ’em laugh at the way he talks
I’d find my long lost cousin John
The one we left back in Vietnam
Show him a picture of his daughter now
She’s a doctor and he’d be proud
Then tell him we’d be back in a couple of days
In the rear view mirror we’d all watch ’em wave
Yeah, and losing them wouldn’t be so hard to take
If heaven wasn’t so far away
I used to think to myself that it was ironic when something would remind me of my Mom at just the right moment, exactly when I needed it. But what if it is something more?
Maybe Heaven isn’t so far away, maybe we just need to listen more with our hearts.