I allow the words to repeat in my mind over and over again, until I feel the buzzing of anxiety start to evaporate. The tremble in my hands stops, the squeezing in my chest loosens, and I can take in a deep, calming breath.
When I feel ready, I put my car into drive and push my big toe down on the gas pedal. The farm slowly comes into view and looks like a piece of art, painted with oils and pressed into a canvas with rough fingertips. Bold strokes of burnished gold and bright whites and deep forest greens. I can see why my Mamaw was often inspired to paint landscapes of the farm.
I traveled to Covewood a few times over the last ten years, always to visit here and nowhere else. Each time that I returned, I noticed how there were less and less animals, how the gardenstarted to dwindle down to something more attainable for my Mamaw, and how the house seemed to age right along with my sweet grandparents. The more I visited and saw the differences, the harder it became to accept just how much I was missing out on.
But today, the farmhouse has a fresh coat of white paint, the front porch has been completely redone, and the roof is layered in black metal. It looks brand new.
I shut the car door and take a step toward my favorite place in the whole world. “Hey, Little Duck,” Papaw says in greeting. I walk toward him, my eyes still studying the changes of the house before I wrap my arms tightly around his soft form.
Home.
This is what home feels like. Warm, comforting, and familiar. Home smells like peppermint, earth, and coffee. Papaw places his hands on the side of my face and pulls me away from him to get a better look at me. His glassy blue eyes take me in as a smile deepens his wrinkles. This is what home looks like.
Papaw moves his hands to my shoulders before stepping away and waves for me to follow him onto the porch. We take a seat at a small farmhouse-style table, and I try not to notice the vase of spring flowers—daffodils, jonquils, and wild blue phlox—that sits in the center.
Flowers that are withering away.
Mamaw liked to keep fresh flowers everywhere she could and always made sure to replace them when they were starting to wilt. Seeing the dying bouquet is another reminder that she’s no longer here, and I fight against the sting that it sends to my heart.
As if Papaw can sense my thoughts, he picks up the vase and discards the old flowers over the porch railing. He takes a seat across from me, scooping up the fallen petals, and tosses them over the railing to meet their friends. I smile at him appreciatively.
He sucks in a breath, his round belly rising as he does, andbegins tapping his fingers on top of the table's surface. As he exhales, he looks at me, and I can see how much this grief has been weighing on him. The bags under his eyes are heavier, circled by dark shadows from lack of sleep. His face seems thinner, as I’m sure he hasn’t had much of an appetite. My face softens, and I reach out to hold his hand.
The gesture causes tears to form in his eyes, and it’s a punch to my gut. Where have I been these past few days? Hiding away in a hotel room. Distracting myself at Olivia’s. All the while, my Papaw has been here, trying to learn how to live life without his soulmate. What kind of granddaughter does that? I should have called and checked in with him more, met him for a few meals in town, but I all but abandoned him here.
God give me strength, I pray again as I try to blink away the hot tears I feel behind my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper and clear my throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here since…”
He waves his free hand at me and shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize. I understand.”
I squeeze his hand, wishing I could find the words to bring him comfort as he lets out a shaky exhale. “I know how hard it must be for you to be here without your grandmother. It’s been the hardest days of my life. I can’t go anywhere without a constant reminder of her. Although it’s somewhat comforting, it also keeps breaking my heart over and over again. Not just over your grandmother but also stirring up feelings after losing your father.”
His voice breaks, and tears begin to stream down his face. I often forget that my grandparents still walk through the grief of losing a child. No matter how many years go by, or how hard they try to hide the internal struggle, they will always carry that with them. And now Papaw has to carry it alone.
I feel ashamed that I hadn’t thought of that before. About how Mamaw’s grief could also make the loss of my dad worsefor him. The strongest man that I know is breaking before me, and there’s nothing I can do to repair him.
“I, uh…” He clears his throat, keeping his gaze on the table. “I was vacuuming this morning and found her hair in the?—”
Tears begin to blind my vision, and I try my hardest to hold back my own sobs. I know that if I cry it’ll make things harder on him. I inhale and blink as fast as I can before his eyes find mine. He places his other hand on top of mine and gives it a comforting pat.
“I’ve decided that I can’t be here anymore,” he admits, and my breath catches, “in this house. I’ve talked with your Uncle Jack, and he’s agreed to let me come stay with him for a bit until I figure out what I want to do. He has that shed in the backyard. You know the one you used to play in with your cousins? He turned it into a guest house and said that I’m welcome to it.”
I shake my head and look toward the front door. “But what about the house? The renovations? The animals?”
“Everything in the kitchen and living room was removed this past week so that the renovations there can be started on. I need to be out of the way, anyway. I’ll have to travel back and forth to take care of things, but I can’t stay here right now. It’s too much.” His voice breaks again, and guilt slices through me like a sharp knife. “I’ll figure it out. I just wanted to be able to tell you in person before you return to Rockdale.”
I left ten years ago because I was terrified. I only return to visit when it’s convenient for me. I barely speak to my mother, all because I think I’m protecting my heart. I’ve missed out on so many things and haven’t been here when my grandparents needed me the most. What if I could have helped, and my Mamaw could still be here? What if?—
Before I realize what I’m doing, I blurt out, “I’ll do it.”
My heart stops. Or at least it feels like it stops. I look down at my feet where I’m sure I will find it laying, beating, waving goodbye.What am I doing?
His eyes widen, completely shocked at my words. Heck, Iam too. The guilt mixed with grief is eating me alive, and knowing that Papaw has been having such a hard time, I have to do something. I need to think about someone other than myself.
“Do what?” he asks, his brows raising.
“I’ll stay here. I’ll help oversee the renovations and make sure things are getting done. I can take care of the animals and everything else. I want to help.”
