Remembering I-35

On August 1, 2007, I was nearing the end of my maternity leave. So at 6:00pm I wasn't in the usual afternoon rush hour, and I wasn't listening to the radio or following much of any media.

Shortly after 7:00, I got a call from the elderly woman across the street—of all people, Esther was the one I had most naturally befriended during my time off. (My street has at least three other families, each with at least three children, and those stay-at-home moms were the ones I imagined myself becoming BFF with. So much for that, I more often found myself sitting in Esther's front room, showing off my daughters and listening to her stories of what motherhood was like for her.)

When my 22-month old had a febrile seizure, it was Esther who called me daily to find out how she was doing. When a violent storm toppled the massive tree in our yard, it was Esther who called to check on us. When the curtains in our front room were open past dark, it was Esther who called to check if we were okay. So when I heard Esther's voice that evening of August 1, I was slightly amused (again) by her breathless inquiry, "Are you all okay?!"

It was Esther who alerted me to the fall of the I-35 bridge that night. And as I watched the story unfold and saw the pictures of the missing, one story in particular caught my heart. The young pregnant mother with her 22-month old daughter. My own 22-month old daughter was joyfully running around my feet. How many times had I strapped her snugly into the car seat, even driven over bridges, taking every little moment for granted? The thought of sinking into a river, with both of us strapped in, and me unable to reach back and save her, was unbearable. But it had happened to someone else, and it never should have happened at all. Even today I can barely stand to imagine what that woman and her child may have experienced when the bridge went down, taking all of them into the dark water.

Tomorrow is August 1, and I'm grateful for the health and happiness of my family. But I also think it's fitting to recognize that everything we know can vanish in an instant, and it's fair to say, God bless the victims and the ones who were left to carry on without them. God bless Sadiya, her unborn child, and her little girl Hana.

I am one of the lucky, if only for right here and now.

13 seconds in August.