I've always had this fascination with the Brooklyn Bridge.  To me, it ranks up there with the Empire State Building, The Chrysler Building, Museum Mile, and the late Twin Towers if you want to think of 'key New York landmarks'.  There are so many bridges in New York, and all of them are important and nice to look at, but none of them have ever done it for me the way the Brooklyn Bridge does.  I'm completely in awe of it.  Last year, when my view out my bedroom window WAS the Bridge, I think I cried a little (this year my view is the NYU arch and the Empire State Building which is currently lit up orange...<3) because I was so fortunate to be right there.  I never really thought to try to name my feelings...just that they were there.

And then yesterday, when I was talking to my parents about our immigration history so I could recount it to my students, it sorta hit me.  I was reminded of something I've known about my entire life, but just re-thought about.  The reason my grandfather had absolutely no hearing; why we'd have to SCREAM into the phone for him to hear us.

The way he and his friends used to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge for fun.  I think that's it.  I think that is at the heart of my connection to the bridge.  The fact that where I'm standing, where I'm leaning against the railing, where I'm looking ... he was there too.  And he wasn't just there.  He was ALIVE there.  Not just alive like I'm alive.  He was in the moment, caught up, having fun, young and carefree, decades before I knew him as my grandpa alive.  He was probably younger than I am now, being wild and crazy despite the hardships he faced. 
And I got to walk right where he walked on Saturday.

Can a girl get any luckier?

*It's moments like this that make me miss you more than anything.  I won't ever forget you (any of you).