I’m trying to say goodbye to this place – to the river water, brown and smooth. To the delicate oak leaves, breathing under a swirl of breeze. To the long stretch of quiet, touched only by twittering songbirds. Goodbye to the slender grass on the bank. The earthy smell of air.
Perhaps most I’m trying to say goodbye to memories, as if moving away requires me to pack them all away in a trunk. Locked until I can return.
A few months ago I wrote about home. It was my first blog post actually. I started it while leaving work and waiting on the train. On that rain-soaked evening, I felt so decisively the need to go home, only I couldn’t figure out where or what home was.
In Pittsburgh, that unpacked box in our bedroom still remains unpacked, and in the coming weeks, other boxes will join him. I’ll wrap dishes in newspaper and fold sheets into tubs and then I’ll say goodbye to this place that’s served as a resting place for two years.
We’re going to a place called Little Elm, and it’s a thousand miles away. I’ve visited for a weekend and been in the house we’re buying for all of fifteen minutes. As I push back and forth on this swing, wind slipping through my hair, I can’t help but wonder if this new place will feel like home. Be home. Is it what I’ve been waiting for? Dreaming of?
I’m not good at farewells. I’m too sentimental. Every time I leave my mother’s house I say goodbye to it, haunting the hallway, the curling wallpaper in her bedroom, the aging piano keys, as if I’ll never see them again. Memorizing their lines and curves and complexities and all the feelings that come with them.
Growing up in Appalachia comes with a powerful sense of belonging. There’s an inexplicable tie to the land. The pride that it’s ours – this dense tangle of steep forests, the mossy creeks, the crickets in the long grass – as if we created them and they speak to our identity more than our own names.
I knew when I met Tommy that someday he would take me away. It was like seeing the future. When I accepted his marriage proposal at the tender age of 20, I was also agreeing to leave this place. Not that year or the next, or even in five, but someday. He wasn’t the type to settle down in a dying economy with your choice of Bob Evans or Applebee’s for dinner. He wanted more, always dreamed of more.
In the same way the folding hills made me feel safe, they made him feel trapped. And in the same way I cherished the crisping air and first fall of snow, he despised the cold. He felt the sluice of ice through his jacket where I felt the call to return home and build a fire.
I’m afraid to leave. Afraid that when I come back, it won’t be the same. But I know that’s silly. These trees, their graceful bending under warm wind, have been here far longer than I. The beauty of this culture, the way we help one another, will persist despite my absence. But all the bad things will go on, too. Our addictive tendencies. Our stubborn refusal to move on. Our belief in loyalty that is sometimes stronger than our belief in what is right.
No place is perfect, and I’d be wrong to romanticize it. Almost heaven, West Virginia, we say. But it isn’t. It’s still earth. It’s still broken and a little upside down, the dark things often clouding out the light. I can’t escape that by moving. But it has been home. Such a good home.
I’m trying to say goodbye. The trunk is packed, but the lid not yet closed. I am tempted to look over my shoulder, to ask for one more evening in my home among the hills. But that’s life – our endless pursuit of a little more time. This chapter is closing, the final words scratching onto paper.
I don’t know what the next chapter will say. I can’t say what the next year will hold. I’m just glad that God is the same here, there, and everywhere. The same yesterday, today, and forever. Everything else may bend and alter. Home may elude me like a fistful of river water. But at least I have that promise.
The promise of at least one piece of life remaining and unchanging. Someday, I’ll find my home.
Susanne Null
June 18, 2019This brought tears to my eyes because this was beautifully written words of a beautiful state you’ve grown up in and now time to go onto new adventures in your life!. You’re right the state of WV isn’t perfect but the beauty of so many memories in this hills and mountains will never leave your heart 💜 always to be remembered!!!! I’m excited to see your pictures and your words of both your lives in Texas. We love you both and though you’ll be far away you’ll still be in our hearts😘❤️
Kristi Rhule
June 18, 2019Beautifully written and true words that once you leave your feeling of home will begin to shift. Not today, or tomorrow, but eventually. Just know that the feelings you have in your mother’s home will never change and you will always feel safe and warm there. Cherish those moments, feelings and the love that surround them! We can’t wait to see your new journey unfold. ❤️
Alyce Taylor
June 18, 2019I will miss seeing your beautiful soul! Although we weren’t together very much, but a part of our family is moving with you and Tommy! Praying for a good transition for you both!
Anita C Barker
June 18, 2019I relate to all you have said in a very personal way as I left home at the age of 20 and have never returned to a permanent dwelling in the mountain state. But, what I have done is take my memories with me, all the smells and tastes and people of home. They have traveled with me to Kentucky, Texas, South Carolina and now North Carolina. My heart has never waivered from those hills, however. The people, the river, and yes, even the lack of resources and those dark places. Because the light of perseverance, determination and sheer will for rising above circumstances outside of our control modeled for me by parents, teachers, neighbors and churchgoers has led me through times in my life when I needed a nudge. I pray that your heart will feel at home in Little Elm. That you will embrace your new journey and have experiences that will continue to mold and shape your future. All of us who know and love you will be in Little Elm too, cheering for you!
Grandma
June 18, 2019We have lived in many places but sooner or later they all seem like home. Home is where the heart is. Some day we will all see our final home.
Pam
June 18, 2019Just stop it Elizabeth! I can’t take it. I’m in the hair salon crying my eyes out. I love you.
Pam
June 18, 2019Just stop it Elizabeth! I can’t take it. I’m in the hair salon crying my eyes out. I love you.
Elizabeth Lyvers
June 18, 2019Don’t! You’ll make me cry! I love you.
Sara Hammett
June 18, 2019We will miss you sweet girl but will be connected by your blogs! Our hope is that Tommy will realize how much he misses these hills after he has been away awhile & bring you back closer to HOME! We love you & your family & you are all a part of our family now! So even though you are moving away for now, we look forward to our family reunions & trust they will be often! ❤️❤️U P Larry & Sara
Anna
June 18, 2019Elizabeth, Delbert and were so happy to have seen you before you embarked on your new adventure. You, Katherine, and Marybeth have always had a special place in my heart. May God grant you the desires of your heart as you follow Him. We want to see lots of pictures of your new surrounding and will be praying for you and Tommy as you continue to become one with each other and God! ❤️🙏🏼❤️🙏🏼❤️🙏🏼
Dee Ostrander
June 22, 2019Just beautiful as your life continues to be! Godspeed this next journey and I am looking forward to following alongside!
Lynn
April 7, 2022Hello Elizabeth,
Thank you for your words about Sally Davis. My parents went to college together with Sally and Dick. For part of my life, I lived in WV and I remember well the porch swing, the beautiful music from the piano and the safety I felt in the sameness of their home each time I visited. Her celebration of life was just that. Thank you for sharing your words. They were perfect.
We too are in TX. I know where Little Elm is. We have a home in McKinney.
Blessings to you!