The Long Goodbye

Looking out the window, I squint from the glare of the airplane wing. The view of the runway gives way to unseasonably green hills then snow-covered mountaintops and fades into billowy white clouds.

I feel nostalgic. Even though our entire family will be together next month, I mourn the loss of home base. 

We spent a quick weekend clearing our house. With the help of our local children and a  friend (who has literally seen us through every challenge since we built our house), we deposited the final hard-to-decide-on items at Deseret Industries and storage.

Gorgeous views from every room. That’s what I wrote in the home’s description, and it’s my favorite thing about the house we built. Views of mountains and trees and the Great Salt Lake. 

Why were we led to this place for the most difficult events of our lives? Why did the first lot not feel right? 

Every time I have been present with nature in this place, I have felt peace. 

I open my senses to nature here. I look at the mountain at the end of our street. Its peak and the deeper greens of the pine trees lift my eyes from the ground to higher possibilities. Sometimes the mountain is silhouetted by a blue, cloudless sky. Sometimes by moonlight.

I kick off my shoes and feel the grass. I read once that a person receives energy from the electrical current of the earth. I don’t know about that, but it seems healing. 

I see the foothills that are green for a short time. In early summer they are dotted with yellow wildflowers. The green and yellow join forces to make the hills an emerald city for a few days. Then it all looks sunburned.  

I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, the breeze on my face. Sometimes the breeze turns to the wind that funnels through the canyon. It’s blown off parts of our covered deck and lifted trampolines out of place. 

I hear the squawk of magpies in the light and the howl of coyotes in darkness. The stars are within arm’s reach.

This place has absorbed and reflected deep peace. 

Rooted in our home and yard are happy memories, lessons learned, tears and laughter, tossed footballs, first dates, dance parties, s’mores at the firepit, broken hearts and healed souls. And a family. Here my family has grown in heart and number. 

I’ve had other homes I’ve loved and left. But this. This is the last home I will create with my children under my roof. So saying goodbye is bittersweet. 

Our children are scattered around the country now. I love watching them chase their dreams. I will probably always remember the chaotic, beautiful, exhausting times in the home we created on the mountain as sacred. And they are. 

Going back to an empty house – empty of our things and without us – helped me feel something I already knew. The house is just 4 walls without my people. It’s time for another family to live and love in the place we created. 

Home is people. Not a place. If you go back there after the people are gone, then all you can see is what is not there anymore.

Robin Hobb

My time has changed. It’s my time to be mobile and live more simply. It’s my time to explore the East with my husband. It’s my time to enjoy the beauty that is the two of us. It’s my time to be an arms length from the chaos and wonder and to delight in the next generation creating their homes. 

In your heart, your true home resides, and it will always be with you as long as you remember those you love.

Patricia Polacco