The Sad Stuff

I never talk about the sad stuff in my blog. I, after all, have a reputation to protect. I can't be talking about anything that isn't funny--but some days, you just need to vent to everyone and no one all at the same time--and isn't this the perfect outlet for that?

To start, I grew up on a small farm. It has now been in my family well over 100 years. My great grandfather cleared several hundred acres of woods by hand with my great uncle in the late 1800s. They settled there--near a spring and on the Clinch River--and my family has lived there ever since. My grandparents had a store there during the Great Depression. My dad and aunt were both born there. My family was living there when the Methodist Church was built and helped get that started. According to my dad and local legends, this area is called Slant because of the sharp angles of the Appalachian Mountains that our house faces. My great grandparent's house still stands between my Aunt Shirley and my parents house. We still drink water from the spring just like they did. There are 2 barns on the property--one in which my dad remembers my great grandfather building in less than 2 weeks. It is beautiful and so peaceful.

A few years ago, my dad's cousin, who is now somewhere near 95, came to visit "the homestead" as she calls it. Like pretty much everyone of that generation on my dad's side of the family, she was born on our family farm in the early 1910s. Her mom died when she was a young girl and her dad moved to Kingsport--away from my great grandparents--and he remarried. The lady he remarried was horrible to her and her brother. She told me of a night when she was around 14 when she got her brother, crawled out the window, and ran away. She had enough money to buy a train ticket from Kingsport to Slant the next morning. She said the whole night when she didn't have any where to go she kept thinking "if I can just make it home to Slant, then I know everything will be okay" and told me that Slant will always be home--no matter where you go.

Two years ago, I was in my first year of living and working in St. Louis--my dad was preparing to have surgery on an aneurysm--a surgery my Uncle Dwight had died from 6 months earlier. I flew home to be with the family during Dad's surgery--which was schedule for April 2. At this point, my mom was sick with pneumonia, was on medication, and had started dropping weight. My dad survived the surgery and it was successful. I flew back to St. Louis... during the next 2 weeks my mom went to the doctor to figure out why the medications were not working--needless to say it was cancer and the diagnosis was that it wasn't looking like anything could be done. At the time I was in LA at a conference for work. The day I flew back to St. Louis from LA, I packed my things and came home. The entire 8 hour drive from St. Louis to Slant--I just kept thinking of the words from the story--if I can just make it home to Slant, everything will be okay.

I pulled in the driveway after midnight. My mom was setting on couch waiting up for me--like I was 16 and late for curfew. She had lost so much weight and had an oxygen mask on. Three weeks had made such a difference--a difference I was not prepared to face. When I walked in the door, tears started down her face... "I told the doctor if I could just get my baby home to Slant, everything would be okay..."

A week later, my mom died. She is now buried on the hill from our house--on the land my great grandfather cleared by hand and at our family church that overlooks the Clinch River and beautiful Appalachian mountains that Slant is named for...

These last few weeks have made me questioned where I am and where I want to be. The longing to go home has been in my heart--not my mind. I always felt that I needed to go explore--travel to big cities--do great things--but none of that matters to me anymore. I thought I was bigger than where I am from--that I was "too good for my raising" as people from home would say. But today, the thought of driving down 65, turning at the red barn mailbox, passing by C.E.'s old house and driving over the little hill to my parents house in Slant is where not only my heart belongs but where my soul is and will always be. My love for the place where my great grandparents settled--where my grandparents lived--where my dad was born--where I grew up--is who I am--and that is so much more important than where I am now and what I do to pay the bills.

When I imagine heaven, I see Slant on a warm spring day when the grass is green and when you can hear nothing but the river. I like to imagine that is what my mom gets to experience everyday and until my time comes to an end, I want to spend it where my heart and soul are happy and I know that isn't here. So however long it may be from today, I do know when I finally make it back to Slant, everything will be okay... it always is.