After the Last Goodbye

Name’s Mary. Folks here in Beckley, West Virginia, probably think I’m stubborn as a mule, holdin’ onto this house at the end of Pine Grove Lane. But this ain’t just any house — it’s mine and Tom’s. We built it together, plank by plank, thinkin’ it’d stand strong forever, just like us. Now it feels a little emptier every day, like the walls themselves miss him.

We met when I was sixteen, back when the world was big and bright and every hill around here seemed full of promise. Tom had this red motorbike, shiny as a new penny, and he was always smilin' like he’d just won the lottery. He had this wild way about him that made you feel braver just standin’ next to him. First time he picked me up, Daddy stood on the porch with a look that could’ve turned a man to stone. Didn’t scare Tom one bit.

We rode that bike all over these hills, my arms tight around his waist, wind rushin’ through my hair. Sometimes we didn’t even have a destination — just ridin’ to feel free. That’s the thing about Tom. He always made me feel like life was somethin’ worth grabbin’ hold of, even on the dullest of days.

We got married young, barely outta high school. Folks said we’d never last, but here I am, fifty-two years later, missin’ him like it’s the first day he’s been gone. You don’t ever get used to it, you just learn how to carry it without fallin’ apart.

Mornings are the worst. I used to wake up to Tom mumblin’ somethin’ about the weather as he sat by the window with his coffee. Now it’s just me and that awful, echoing quiet. I still set two plates for breakfast sometimes, outta habit I guess. Stupid, I know. But when you’ve done somethin’ for fifty years, your hands just don’t forget.

It’s the little things that sneak up on me — things no one else would even notice. The way his side of the bed stays cold, how the porch swing creaks just a bit different without his weight on it. Even his laugh, big and hearty, still echoes in my head when I’m sittin’ here alone.

I miss callin’ out, “Tom, supper’s ready!” and hearin’ his boots thump down the hallway. He always came slow, actin’ like he was busy with somethin' when really he just liked makin’ me wait. And Lord, I miss how he'd sit with me after dinner, the smell of his pipe lingerin' in the air, talkin' about nothin’ important — just life.

My kids — bless their hearts — keep beggin’ me to pack up and move to Charleston or even Ohio. "Mama, it ain't right for you to be out here alone," they say. But they don’t understand. This house ain't just wood and nails; it’s Tom. It’s us. Leavin’ would be like rippin’ my soul clean out.

Today, storm clouds are rollin’ in heavy and low, just like they always do this time of year. Tom loved the rain. Said it made the hills greener and the air fresher. I remember us dancin' barefoot in the yard once when a big storm hit. We were soaked through, but laughin’ like kids who didn’t have a care in the world.

The rain starts fallin’ now, soft at first, then harder. I stay sittin’ on the porch, lettin’ it wash over me. Funny thing about rain — it don’t just clean the earth, it kinda cleans your heart too, if you let it.

I close my eyes and whisper into the air, "I miss you, Tom. I’ll always miss you." But maybe that’s okay. Maybe missin’ someone just means they mattered enough to stay with you, even when they’re gone.

And as the rain keeps fallin', I reckon I ain’t alone after all. Some loves don’t fade, even when the person does. They stay, stitched into every crack and corner, remindin’ you that life’s still got somethin’ worth holdin’ onto.