Last night, biking home from the river front on the Stone Arch Bridge, stopping to take photos and observe, I listened to my intuition and took a right instead of a left, heading towards the Guthrie, towards the glowing, unobtrusive yet beckoning lights.
This right turn led me to the 35W bridge memorial. Something I guess I knew was there yet had not experienced myself. Coming up to it I saw someone else crossing the street towards the memorial. My fight v. flight momentarily kicked in and then realized it was a woman into her 70s give or take, I figured I was safe.
We initially kept our space yet were close and eventually spoke. Lil, a wonderfully warm older woman, with her coiffed hair, glasses and sweater, asked me where I was from, mentioned she was visiting the cities from Albert Lea, joking about the distance and the small town atmosphere. She having to come to the cities to 'see' anything, me having to travel to Northern Minnesota to 'get away'. She had spent her evening at the Guthrie, observing the view from the lookout and could not leave the cities without physically coming down to the memorial.
We talked about the beauty of the memorial. We talked about the people that died. The fact that these people were fathers, brothers, sons, uncles, grandpas, grandmas. Much like the war memorials and the soldiers that have passed these people meant something to someone and gave/lost their lives and such a tribute is a wonderful expression of appreciation.
We then digressed, or rather, segueing into talking about seeing grown men cry and the stoicism of the past. Observing people, specifically grown men, touch those walls in DC and break down in unobstructed tears. She shared the first time seeing her father cry was on a birthday many a year ago. She was at the age where you stop sending your father the funny cards and instead start expressing your love and appreciation. When he read that card he started to cry and she instantly wished she could take it all back. I expressed the only time I can recall my father crying, receiving the news of his own father passing and how it affects you and you can never forget that moment.
We talked for a few more moments, me introducing myself and learning her name. Her wishing me a safe ride home and me wishing her a safe long drive home late at night. And then we left each other to digest the memorial in our own ways. Me going out onto a lookout to write down my notes of meeting her, to snap a few more photos; Lil reading and thinking who knows what. I biked away observing her moving through the pillars and feeling so appreciative I was able to meet her, talk to her and share in the beauty and wonder together.
This right turn led me to the 35W bridge memorial. Something I guess I knew was there yet had not experienced myself. Coming up to it I saw someone else crossing the street towards the memorial. My fight v. flight momentarily kicked in and then realized it was a woman into her 70s give or take, I figured I was safe.
We initially kept our space yet were close and eventually spoke. Lil, a wonderfully warm older woman, with her coiffed hair, glasses and sweater, asked me where I was from, mentioned she was visiting the cities from Albert Lea, joking about the distance and the small town atmosphere. She having to come to the cities to 'see' anything, me having to travel to Northern Minnesota to 'get away'. She had spent her evening at the Guthrie, observing the view from the lookout and could not leave the cities without physically coming down to the memorial.
We talked about the beauty of the memorial. We talked about the people that died. The fact that these people were fathers, brothers, sons, uncles, grandpas, grandmas. Much like the war memorials and the soldiers that have passed these people meant something to someone and gave/lost their lives and such a tribute is a wonderful expression of appreciation.
We then digressed, or rather, segueing into talking about seeing grown men cry and the stoicism of the past. Observing people, specifically grown men, touch those walls in DC and break down in unobstructed tears. She shared the first time seeing her father cry was on a birthday many a year ago. She was at the age where you stop sending your father the funny cards and instead start expressing your love and appreciation. When he read that card he started to cry and she instantly wished she could take it all back. I expressed the only time I can recall my father crying, receiving the news of his own father passing and how it affects you and you can never forget that moment.
We talked for a few more moments, me introducing myself and learning her name. Her wishing me a safe ride home and me wishing her a safe long drive home late at night. And then we left each other to digest the memorial in our own ways. Me going out onto a lookout to write down my notes of meeting her, to snap a few more photos; Lil reading and thinking who knows what. I biked away observing her moving through the pillars and feeling so appreciative I was able to meet her, talk to her and share in the beauty and wonder together.
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