The Longest Goodbye
Let all that I am praise the Lord;
with my whole heart, I will praise his holy name.
2 Let all that I am praise the Lord;
may I never forget the good things he does for me.
3 He forgives all my sins
and heals all my diseases.
4 He redeems me from death
and crowns me with love and tender mercies.
5 He fills my life with good things.
My youth is renewed like the eagle's!
Psalm 103:1-5: TLV
"This is the longest goodbye…" Nancy said, and I think I agree. It is a perfect fall day here on Shady Lane. The sun is low, light filtering through my cousin Jack's oak leaves. The air stirs with a soft breeze, and the American flag in its stars and stripes glory sways from its perch on the front porch. We haven't covered the pool this year, so the water still ripples that perfect shade of 1950s blue. And I am still here camping out in my mother's house.
It is under contract. We have agreed on a short list of repairs. The movers come this week to pack up Nancy's furniture, with its own pedigree of family history; the Tanner pie safe and the turn-of-the-century white kitchen cabinet with red enamel trim (both of them refinished painstakingly by Daddy), Mama Cunningham's iron bed, the vintage formica kitchen table picked up from the side of the road, and oh shoot, we still haven't gone through those last two photo albums we just discovered – both from the 1940s, Daddy in France, Momma in nurses training at Greenville General Hospital and then stationed in Mississippi. At that point in time, they were on very different trajectories. It would be 10 years before their paths crossed again.
But really, things are moving forward. There is hopefully an end in sight. One where we sit at a table to sign documents about land that once belonged to my grandfather, the dairy farmer, and the house my Momma built when she was a young widow (barely in her 30s) and mother to two little girls. It is a house that has never been sold.
The new buyer was attracted to the 20’x40’ pool. Well, no kidding. We all are. It has always been Daddy’s pool, his baby. Even though Nancy has been the caregiver for the past 40 years. When my Cunningham cousins gathered here one last time in August, the tables once again were heavy with homemade food and people still got thrown into the pool with shouts of protest and good-natured laughter.
The longest goodbye. I wake in the night not sure if I am in my grown-up home where I raised my own children, or in my childhood bedroom. The hall there still echoes with long-gone voices; I hear the kitchen cabinets slam as my mother empties the dishwasher and hollers, “Girls! It is time to get up!”
This last gift of summer has come and gone. I held my cousin's wife in my arms as she cried and thanked me for sharing this home one more time. I have sat for hours outside with childhood friends who told me stories again of their memories of calling this place a second home and these people family. The very last night we sat at the table for dinner, Hara, who I have known since I was seven, shared the meal with us, after helping me pack up the kitchen. It was perfectly…fitting. Not too long ago I sat with her sifting through her parents’ photographs, her mother's jewelry, and her father's books. I have to remind myself it is not the house – but the people who created the home within the house.
Oddly, I have said other goodbyes over the last few months. Or wanted to. My cousin Perry died too quickly in July for me to share a handful of photographs of men in uniform, his daddy the most handsome of them all. I will pass them on to his brother. It was the same week we had five days to adjust to the fact that our dog – only four years old, was dying. My comfort after holding her as she took her last breath was a martini and a hamburger and to high tail it to Shady Lane immediately. Then there was my 50th anniversary of graduating from Riverside High School; I got to speak to the Evening News on behalf of that Charter class, chat with my beloved English teacher, and dance with Alan one more time to Long Train Running. Because really, without love, where would you be now?
So perhaps this is my lesson I am slow in learning – or perhaps I have known it all along; it is the people we love and cherish. The things are just reminders of those we love.
Slowly we move forward into November. Another delay, another week to reflect and hold my breath. Our carport in Atlanta is an eye-sore with tarp-covered rocking chairs (waiting to be refinished) and 1960s bicycles that nobody wants – including me. Our dining room table is covered with spreadsheets of expenditures. My den is wall-to-wall chaos with boxes waiting to be unpacked; the banana cookie jar that belonged to our grandmother Nancy didn't have room for, the pair of midcentury orange chairs purchased by my very modern mother in 1954, and those 1940 photo albums are here somewhere. We can't have family here for Thanksgiving since the gold framed mirror which belonged to the original Georgia Tanner – that Ben and Joe had re-silvered for my Gram after they came back from the war is leaning against a wall without a home and will not stand a chance against a recently turned three-year-old who loves to throw balls. It is sometimes terrifying to hear his joy resounding with the words, "I got it!"
So, this is what I need to hold on to tightly: life goes on – but life is a temporary thing. How does it go?
“Our days on earth are like grass;
like wildflowers, we bloom and die.
The wind blows, and we are gone—
as though we had never been here."
Psalm 103:15-16 NLT
This is true – but I would be in despair if I believed this small blink in time is all there is. But there is more. So, indulge me if you are the believing sort and listen to the rest of David’s words:
But the love of the Lord remains forever
with those who fear him.
His salvation extends to the children's children
18 of those who are faithful to his covenant,
of those who obey his commandments!
19 The Lord has made the heavens his throne;
from there he rules over everything.
20 Praise the Lord, you angels,
you mighty ones who carry out his plans,
listening for each of his commands.
21 Yes, praise the Lord, you armies of angels
who serve him and do his will!
22 Praise the Lord, everything he has created,
everything in all his kingdom.
Let all that I am praise the Lord.”
So, this is where I wait during the longest goodbye, praising the Lord for His provision, His perfect timing, His sovereignty. Well, I praise Him for everything.
My sister said, "This is the longest goodbye." As we left an empty house this past week, my steadfast husband said, "No one alive has ever seen this house empty." How profoundly and completely true. It has never been empty since the day my mother moved in. Until now. 1954. 2023. That is a long time of earthly continual love. I am grateful it is not dependent on just a house made of brick, watched over by century-old oak trees. It is a home that will continue. It is built on a solid rock. Let all that I am praise the Lord.
I have shared this before, but I keep going to it this week. Over and over again. May it bring you reassurance and peace in everything you are walking through right now. Remember – this is all temporary. There is a place of forever. Because there is Someone who is steadfast.
Steadfast by Sarah McCracken
From the back of the pickup: Momma’s outdoor furniture found its new home today at Dara’s house. The love continues. I look forward to gathering around it with the ones I love for yet another meal.
New Living Translation (NLT) Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.