My Dear Lucille

Saying goodbye on the eve of packing up my Portland home

For April’s theme of “Awakening,” I wrote this as I took the first step toward a different life on the coast of Oregon.

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She was perched above the other houses, like a fairytale castle, surrounded by trees and budding flowers. As I walked by, gazing up at this Tudor lady on the hill, I wondered who might live in such a beautiful place. Not knowing someday, she’d share her world with me. But when the time came to find a new home, she was at the top of the rental listings. Like she was waiting for me.

We didn’t have a smooth start, as I brought a boy with me. She watched me silently cry until I found my voice and told him to leave. Then it was just the two of us, and we started to get to know each other. I called her Lucille, like a stylish grandmother, filling her with art from vintage stores, and curtains to compliment her windows. Rearranging furniture within her walls until it was just right.

Slowly but surely, I learned her quirks. Which of her stairs creaked, where her floor tilted, and when she’d expand or contract with the seasons. In the springtime I’d gaze out her kitchen window as I watched sunlight kiss the buds on her trees. When rain pelted the glass, I’d fill her rooms with soft piano, curling up with a book.

On warm evenings I’d search for constellations in her backyard, the scent of jasmine filling the air. Soon she rang with laughter as I gathered friends on the front porch in the headiness of summer, and hosted candlelit dinners on chilly nights.

When I came back bruised and broken from surgery, she held me in her quiet world until my body found peace again. She heard me start to sing softly as I washed dishes and folded laundry, growing louder as I dressed for evenings of park concerts and dates.

She helped raise two foster kittens, as I’d sleepily stumble down her stairs to warm up their milk in the early morning hours. She consoled me as I paced up and down her hallways, unable to give me an answer as to who I was supposed to be.

She was there the moment a fire lit in my belly and I began to write again. Light fading from the room as I typed furiously, coming alive. As I started to believe I could be more than just a job, or a partner. That I could take the reins of my life and create something wholly new. Which, ironically, meant I had to say goodbye. Armed with this purpose, I must step out of her safe haven, into the unknown. Into a life that might be as beautiful as it is terrifying.

So tomorrow, everything changes. This lovely home of mine, so carefully, lovingly put together, will come undone. I will pull pictures off her walls, gently slide curtains away to expose her sills. My little sanctuary will slowly empty again, becoming a shell for someone else to fill. Her bones will echo with my joy, and rage, and hope, mixed with all the other souls who have crossed her threshold.

I am forever grateful to this gorgeous lady on the hill, embracing me until I found myself. And she’ll be ready for all those yet to come. Waiting, with open arms.

My favorite view, with Eva for company