The Bridge

The Bridge

A Story by I Am Svetlana

“It just hasn’t been the same since your mother died.” My father mumbled one morning as he sipped his cup of coffee in the kitchen, black is how he usually takes it.

                My name was Hannah and I was a junior in high school, about 17 years old. I was your average teen, but my mother had passed away when I was in middle school. Her passing had taken an emotional toll on my father and things seemed to fall apart between him and I.

                The funeral seemed to drag on, which seemed to make everyone irritable, but it never personally bothered me since I enjoyed being in the same room as my mother’s spirit, her soul. I felt her presence and knew she was in a good place, safe. I make it through every day and do my best because I know she is with me, even if she’s not physically here.

                I came downstairs and was cutting a bagel in half to spread on cream cheese and jelly.

                “I just miss her, that’s all.” My father mumbled. This irritated me, so I put the knife down and decided to respond.

                “And you don’t think I miss her?”

                “I know, but…” He uttered.

                “Jesus, Dad. You aren’t the only person in this family who lost someone. She was your wife and my mother. It’s as simple as that, so remember that.”  I was fed up with his complaining and acting as if he was the only one who deserved to be sulking. Nowadays, he acted as if I didn’t care that she was gone, when in reality, he could not imagine the pain I was going through in order to get through each day without her.  I knew my father had been affected by my mother’s passing, but the nerve of him to think of no one but himself. I was at a loss, a low point with him. I needed air.

                He lowered his head and sighed. Taking frequent sips of coffee from his mug as I grabbed my bag and headed to catch the school bus.

 

                School was the same, but today felt more like a blur. After the bell rang, I decided to miss the school bus home and took a stroll in the woods, soon standing on a bridge. It was a place where my mother and I would take coins every so often and make a wish. We would throw our coins over moments later, hoping that one day our wishes would come true.

                I looked over the bridge’s edge to the rushing water below, the rapids. Feeling the cool air caress my delicate face. I climbed up the bridge to the outside, leaning forward with my hands holding the brass behind me. Looking out into the distance, the sky, the trees, hearing the birds and the life of nature. Suddenly, I asked myself if my dad would seem to care if I ever came home or not. Being on this particular bridge that held treasured memories made me shed all likes of hope or even fear. At this moment, I wanted to fall forward into the crushing water, have them swallow me whole; drag me downstream to somewhere entirely new. I smiled at the thought.

 

                I braced myself and prepared to let go, but something made me look down into the water once more. I heard silence and noticed that the rushing water had stopped. The water was now flowing ever so slowly and it looked like glass if you peered at it from above. I saw something in the water just then. A familiar face, one that I would know anywhere, better than anyone.

                My mother’s.

                Even through the water she looked ever so beautiful, so real. My eyes fixed upon her gentle, hazel eyes. I felt the tears build up behind my eyelids and I was not afraid to let them flow. She was here, I felt so comforted, so at home.

                “Mom? Is that you?” I asked the water below me softly. The face seemed to smile and nod. I saw her hands come towards me, as if reaching out. Even at your lowest, whether she was with you or not, my mother knew just how to care.

                “I miss you, Mom.” I said. “And Dad does too, but he seems to forget that you were special to me too, a part of me.”

                “Oh, honey,” my mother’s reflection replied, I felt the tears give way, flowing gently down my face. Her voice was like the sound of sleigh bells, so cheerful and charming. You could hear them anytime of the year and be in a good mood. “Your father will be alright. He is just in a very delicate place right now.” I wiped my tears and continued to focus on her face.

                “He just acts as if I don’t care about you at all. We both lost you, not just him.” I admitted. I felt terrible saying this to her, but I couldn’t bring myself to lie.

                “Hannah, dear. It’s okay to cry and I miss you too. More than you know.” I wiped the remaining tears off of my face and the snot from my nose. Just then, her reflected hands began to motion, as if beckoning me to jump to her, into her arms.

                “Come be with me, my dear.” My mother’s reflection said. I had no doubt in my mind. I cared about nothing else than this moment and felt that I chose to walk away, I might never get a chance to see my precious mother again, the person who has always meant the most to me.

                So, I decided to let all hope fade away, all my fears, and let go.

© 2013 I Am Svetlana


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Reviews

Wow!! Amazing story. Very gripping, I really enjoyed reading it. :)

Posted 9 Years Ago


i just feel sad. i cold feel Hannah just as much. Such a captivating story

Posted 9 Years Ago


strong storyline, strong characters. Impacted me .

Posted 10 Years Ago


Wow Emily this was awesome ,Sad to loose a loved one I just lost a dear friend last week of cancer, But cancer wasn't her disease. Her disease was love:) This was quite a story:)

Posted 10 Years Ago


What a tender, beautiful, haunting story... you take us all into that place of pain... of loss... of despair... and there in all the darkness shines a light calling you away. What a powerful sense of letting go into the unknown currents of life and death.

Posted 10 Years Ago



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Added on October 21, 2013
Last Updated on October 21, 2013

Author

I Am Svetlana
I Am Svetlana

Madison, WI



About
"If you cannot write well; you cannot think well; if you cannot think well, other's will do your thinking for you." -Oscar Wilde Hello all, my name is Emily Svetlana! I am 30 years old and wo.. more..

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