I’m not so good with heights. Sure I’ll climb a ladder every now and then or even help with the strand of Christmas lights wrapped around the house. But I have my limits and this past weekend I think I went past them.

I am the master of keeping things inside and to myself.

Growing up I was often told one of my best assets was my ability to block things out. The only trouble there is that the unresolved emotions/feelings remain. I believe that I blocked them then because I didn’t know how to handle them and my best chance of coping was to act like it never happened. Now I understand that all of these events are just under the surface waiting for a trigger that will erupt and bring them back to the top. One such eruption happened recently and truly caught me off guard.

When I was young, every other weekend I had to go on visitations with my biological father. I didn’t go alone; my older sister and one younger brother went with. These weekends were not something any of us looked forward to. This man, whom I cannot call Dad, wasn’t really in tune with us and his idea of fun wasn’t suited to the three young children in his care. He had no sense of protection for us, it actually seemed like quite the opposite. I have other memories that can collaborate that but for now I’ll just share this one. 

One Saturday morning after picking us up he drove us to a town nearby. Columbus Junction is just 14 miles east of Washington. There’s really nothing to significant in this small Iowa town with a meat packing plant. There was one gas station, one diner and a tiny grocery store if you could call it that. There is one thing that this sleepy little town is known for; the swinging bridge.

It’s been years since I’ve been to this bridge. In my memory, I can picture the wooden planks that didn’t touch one another forcing you to look down where you stepped. I remember the high railings made of rope and wire. Most of all, I remember the sheer terror of this bridge. They say as children our perception is off. By now most of us have been back to our elementary schools and have seen for ourselves how tiny the desks are compared to how big they felt on our first day of school. I imagine it’s the same in this instance. The depth of the valley below that swinging bridge felt to me like the Grand Canyon might feel to an adult.

Dave and I are just back from our first visit to Montana. Our oldest, Ryan and his family just got relocated there. Dave is ecstatic about this and had been bugging me to plan the excursion. My biggest hang up, the cost. With the price of gas, the rental car fees, a hotel room both ways and all the meals, I knew this would be more than the cost of visiting when they lived in North Carolina which was plenty expensive. Dave keeps reminding me not to worry so much about costs and that we can’t take it with us. 

Lately we’ve been experiencing loss and attending too many funerals. “Seize the day” seemed to be what these losses were telling us, so Dave booked the rental and I started planning a menu. Miss Hadley, our three-year-old granddaughter, calls a few days before we leave and with help from mom she tells us she needs a new bookcase. We haven’t told her yet of our plans and now we have another expense to add to our trip.

The day before we leave we picked up what I believe is the smallest mid-sized SUV the rental company could source. Seriously, I think my little car is the same size. Dave, being a determined, resourceful packer started first with the lumber. He’s spent the last few evenings in his shop cutting, sanding and putting pocket holes in so that assembly in Montana will hopefully go smoothly. My job is to pack everything else we’ll need. I start with the car essentials. I like it to have all the amenities I have in my car; tissue, wipes, air freshener, Tylenol, a phone charger and sunglasses. Next, I move onto my list’s inside. These are extensive as I know what I forget to pack we’ll have to purchase and I’m watching every penny. After packing the dry food, the clothing and a few things for Hadley, I make more lists for the cold food to pack in the morning and the last-minute things like our pillows and toothbrushes. That night we go to bed early.

We filled our time in Montana with visits to the many parks. We’d pack a lunch every day and stay out until dinner time. Hadley was the highlight of it all with her rock throwing and hand holding. She’s as precious as they come. We took in the sights and ate down by the lakes. We blew bubbles and looked for wild life. Our evenings went by fast cooking dinner, putting the bookcase together then painting it, cleaning up and taking a walk before bath time. Four solid days later we were again packing up and reviewing a route to drive home on.

Dave wanted a different route home then the way we came. He researched and found a “must take road” in Montana. I believe it’s called bear tooth. We started out at 4:30 am on Friday. The house was quiet except for Miss Tessa whining as we made a couple trips from the house to the car. We pulled out into the darkness and plugged in the directions to Cooke City. Miles started to roll past and just before lunch we were instructed to take Highway 89. Little did we know this is part of Yellowstone National Park. Pulling into the park we questioned the employee if we were on the correct road and once verified we somewhat reluctantly paid the park fee. Driving through Yellowstone was nice but our pace had slowed and it would have been better if we weren’t so focused on getting home.

It was well after noon when we got close to Cooke City and the scenic road Dave had looked up. Then we pulled up to constructions signs reading road closed with certain hours. We made the cut off time and were allowed to continue on. We started ascending the side of the mountain. After a week of driving in the mountain, at first I’m fine. I can see the cars ahead of us and start snapping pictures of the views that only our Creator can take credit for. My ears start popping and the traffic slows down, then eventually comes to a complete stop. We’ve caught up to the construction where there’s one lane of drivable road. The sign in front of us reads an up to thirty-minute wait. Dave puts the car in park. The truck behind us turns around. We couldn’t ask for a better time for lunch so I un-click my seat belt and turn around to reach into the cooler. I pull out the leftover meat, cheese and crackers with a couple of drinks and we enjoy a little car picnic. In front of us the driver gets out and removes his flannel shirt. More cars pile up behind us, then a pilot car headed towards us pulls off and several cars drive past. It’s another fifteen minutes until a different pilot car pulls up to guide us. We refasten our seatbelts and take the car out of park. Brake lights start blinking on as motors are turned over and the procession follows single file.

I now know we’d barely even begun the accent up this road. As we start to drive we take tight curves with steep drop offs. At first the views are amazing as I look around me in wonder. I continue to watch in awe at the sights around me and the road starts to narrow with the drop offs guarded by railings. Snow starts to appear in defiance of the seventy-degree weather. The turns become tighter and the pavement disappears to gravel when we arrive at the site of construction. As a passenger I get to witness more and the reason for the construction was to build out a “cell phone pull out” spot. We’d been seeing these everywhere. Convenient little parallel pull offs to park and take pictures. This particular view was of a peaceful mountain waterfall but what I noticed was the workers tethered to cables working in the most dangerous of conditions dangling on a mountain side. 

The tires crunch along the gravel and although we weren’t going fast it felt fast enough to me. Once we were passed the construction and the pilot car pulled off we were on our own to navigate. 

Somewhere in all of this a memory burst through and panic took over.

I become silent as the road wound its eerie climb upwards. Then snow surrounded us as it had been carved just for our passage. It was now taller than the car. With every turn we climbed higher and higher. Dave was having the time of his life trying to focus on driving and take in the views. I on the other hand couldn’t look anymore and had a death grip on the middle console. Melting snow made mini rivers across the road and in my mind, I worried about slipping. By the time we finally reached the top (11,000 feet elevation) silent tears had worked their way down my face, soaking the collar of my t-shirt.

All I wanted to do was get down as panic seized inside. The day at the bridge came back in vivid color and fear had a firm grip on me.

I didn’t want to go on the bridge that day. It looked dangerous to me and I’d learned I couldn’t trust the adult in charge. I also always did what I was told and seeing my older sister go before me gave me a little courage. I grabbed the railing and stepped onto the first plank following everyone else. It really wasn’t safe for my brother to walk alone so he was in the arms of the man who brought us here. There were others on the bridge. Teenagers having fun were shaking it. I didn’t like all the swaying and bouncing. My grip got tighter as I watched my feet move forward. By the time we’d reached the center I was begging to turn around and go back. My request was met with laughter and to torture me more he started bouncing causing the bridge to move more beneath my already shaking legs. As if this wasn’t enough he proceeded to dangle my little brother over the railing. At this point I’m in tears with my sister laughing and calling me a baby. I’m hysterical by now as he tells us if we fall we’ll die. I watch wide eyed as he’s swinging my brother. When he finally brings him back over the rail I feel a little relief. He tells me to start walking back and somehow through my tears I arrive safely back at the car.  

Dave has noticed my silence and glanced over at me he sees my tears. He’s not sure what to do or what’s upset me. It’s hard for me to articulate, even harder to share the ugly truth. The descension is as equally frightening as the climb for me. We round corners with drop offs so deep I wonder why this is legal. Fear has me silent as Dave questions then starts to reassure. I manage to tell him I don’t like heights and condense the swinging bridge story to who took us and frightened me. By the time we’ve reached the bottom I feel drained but not yet relieved. The memory is out now and running through my head yet I’m still not sure how to cope with it. It’s not just about the heights, the swinging bridge and scaring me, it’s about the man whom I’d much rather forget. If this memory is free to escape what about all the others?

We were coming up on twelve hours in the car. Exhaustion is setting in. Hunger gnaws at my stomach yet I don’t trust myself to keep any food down. I don’t know how to tell Dave what I’m feeling. I’m embarrassed I got so upset over a drive up a mountain. I’m confused why this suppressed memory had to pop out its ugly face and scare me. I try lying down, bad decision. With my eyes closed I envision the drop offs of the mountain and the ground below my feet as a child on the bridge. I try to distract myself with crocheting or watching a movie on my phone, nothing helps. Dave wants me to talk, I can’t. I fear saying it out loud will make me look like a fool, weak and childish. He won’t understand, I tell myself. Why am I so ashamed, so embarrassed?

I’ve been afraid of heights for as long as I can remember. To me what’s interesting about suppressed memories is how they stay suppressed for so long AND when they decide to expose themselves. Just like when the event happened they can be just as confusing when they reappear. The best thing for me personally is to write it out. To pour out the feelings from that memory and acknowledge them. I doubt I’ll ever forget the day at the bridge or the one on the mountain side but now I know I’ll be more careful when it comes to heights. I don’t like remembering the nightmarish moments spent with this man whom a judge finally decided to cease parental rights to. 

To Dave: I know you’re confused about what happened. Please know you did nothing wrong. Your reassurance that you wouldn’t let anything happen to me didn’t go unheard. I loved watching you last week take in all the sites and enjoy the mountains and lakes. As much as I did this trip for Miss Hadley I did it for you. Thank you for always loving me no matter what and especially when it seems like I don’t make any sense. By now you know I’ll explain myself eventually.