Bridge Building

When I was in the middle of the battle of my life; when I was in the struggle to save the life of my husband and the integrity of my family, I stopped writing journals. I kept everything secret. I didn’t share the realities of my struggle with anyone. Only myself, Kirby, and my children--when they were old enough to be aware-- saw this side of our lives. I didn’t even journal during this time, because I didn’t want to leave a record of any of this. I knew that somewhere down the road, if we all survived it, that this part of my life would be something that I would want to forget and move past. It is odd to me, therefore, that this very aspect of our lives, the one that I most tightly guarded and so privately held, is now the part of my life that I am attempting to share with the world.

I am sure that for many of our acquaintances, and even extended family members, this story will be unexpected. So, why would I reveal it now? We have successfully emerged from this darkness. It is almost forgotten--as I had hoped it would be. We have found a way through a great mountain of obstacles. Our hearts have been healed and comforted. Why would I go back now, to a place so painfully endured and so nearly erased to lay it bare for all to see?

These are questions that I have pondered for a long time. I have considered that some may not want to know these truths; that sometimes we hide our difficulties to protect others. I always have thought that preserving the privacy of personal struggle and imperfection is important. Privacy is very important to all of us. I have been noticing lately, however, that the people and stories that inspire us most are those that are the most real. Those who are most fearless in revealing their own path though pain to healing often weld the most power to touch our hearts. This is because each of us will face tests of character and endurance during our life.  Ultimately, the purpose I have in telling this story now is contained in the message of this old and beloved poem:

The Bridge Builder

An old man going a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.

"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim, near,
"You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again will pass this way;
You've crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?"

The builder lifted his old gray head:
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him."

Will Allen Dromgoole