The other night I watched Bridges of Madison County for no good reason. Other than the fact that I remember it being one of my mother’s favorite movies. And maybe it’s because we’re coming up on Mother’s Day or the near-beginning of summer when I have more time to think. Or perhaps it’s because plenty has happened in the last year that I would like to discuss. I reach into strange places in hopes of finding her. Like Madison County. She was never anywhere near Iowa, though, and not at all like Meryl Streep’s character, Francesca–not from another country. Though there were times when she stood out in a crowd as if she spoke with an accent, when she was attractive in the most plain of dress. And there were dreams that she gave up in the course of her life. I see it now. I am twelve years old, sitting in the auditorium at the community college where she takes Theater. I am watching her up on stage during rehearsals for a play where she is Star of the Show. She is electric under the lights: brilliant and powerful, funny and full of character. Later, she will win an award. But after that season, she won’t go back. I don’t remember why. Only that she quit taking classes. Only that she grew quiet again. And those months become a separate season of my mother in color, a season I was privy to somehow. Privileged. To see her under the lights.
This is so lovely (and sad) that I read it twice. Brava!
Thank you, Beth <3
A poignant memory. Well written. I also loved the book, The Bridges of Madison County, and sobbed at the end. The movie was quite good as well if I recall.
Thank you, Darlene. On the movie? Yes. Let’s just say I’m glad I watched it alone (*sob*).
Really poignant. I long to know why she grew quiet again. (Do you know, Cristi?) Mothers so often don’t share their travails, sometimes until far too late in life. Sometimes not at all.
Perfect timing and reason for the rest of us. Everyone should write a short tribute to moms. It would feel really good and even if they’re gone, we’ll be keeping alive what we still have of them. Our memories.
I have ideas, Jan, but I don’t think I will ever know for sure, only that in every memory I have of her being creative (in one way or another), she was vibrant. That’s one reason why our creativity is so crucial, as humans but especially as mothers. It’s easy to let ourselves get lost in the mayhem that life is sometimes.
Oh my dear Christi♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️
Love to you, Pat.
Love this! Sometimes, when I’m driving my daughter home from some school activity, I think of course, she has no idea of my struggles and old stories. Did I ever think of my own mom’s worries and dreams, years ago? I love this moment of your mom’s triumph.
Thank you, Mary.