It is a weekend to reflect on our mothers. My mother passed six years and three months ago.
In thinking about love, I came across the following tidbit, which if I knew it, I had forgotten. It may be time to re-visit this poem by Billy Collins.
In 1274, Dante first saw Beatrice when he was standing near the Ponte Vecchio, a bridge that crosses the Arno River in Florence. He was almost 9 and she a few months younger. Though they spoke only once when he was 18, she was his muse, a bridge to a wider consciousness.
Six hundred fifty years later during WWII, when the Germans were losing and evacuating from Italy, the Germans said they would not blow up the bridge if the Americans promised not to use it. The Americans agreed, so the bridge was saved because of an exalted love of Dante for Beatrice, a love preserved in words
That cord between our mothers and ourselves, that bridge, survives even with death. We pause this weekend to honor an unbreakable bond.