Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

“The writer operates at a peculiar crossroads where time and place and eternity somehow meet. His problem is to find that location.” ~ Flannery O’Connor

On our last full day in Savannah we did what tired tourists do ~ hopped on a tour bus and let that do the walking work for us. It’s the easiest way to see the highlights of a city, and when you have elderly parents, and your own legs are in middle-aged fatigue, and your husband has pushed through to be with you this weekend despite his pain and hurt, you get on the bus and do your best to enjoy it. The day was chilly, even in the sun, so it was better to be inside the bus, even after a few riders insisted on raising the plastic windows and letting the wind in. We saw the bulk of Savannah and all of its greatest hits.

The tour brought us to early afternoon, when Andy and our parents retired to the hotel for one last siesta. I went back out and found my way to Forsyth Park, where I sat down on a bench and started writing my friend Alissa a note.

What a silly thing to do ~ to write to a friend who was no longer here. But it was all I knew ~ it’s all I have ever known ~ and as I sat there thinking about our years together, a squirrel hopped onto the bench across from me. A friendly, if skittish, visitor to remind me that life somehow will go on.  It was only the start of how I’m going to process this.

Seeking peace in beauty, I walked to the Telfair Academy, one of the oldest art museums in the Southeast. It was where ‘Bird Girl’ was on display, after the popularity of its original location in Bonaventure Cemetery proved too much for the sacredness of the place. I found her, alone in her room on this last afternoon in Savannah, and I sat with her for a moment, just the two of us, strangely on our own.

“Loneliness is not being alone, it’s loving others to no avail.” ~ John Berendt

For our last dinner in Savannah, we rode to the river, where Andy had the best plate of fried green tomatoes on our last trip here. He wanted to share them with Mom and Dad, and as the Georgia Queen sailed into the night, rows of lights illuminating the river, we enjoyed a dinner of Southern specialties. Mom then delivered the news that for the first time in forty-four years we would not be spending Christmas Eve at my childhood home, but at my brother’s house. It had been an emotionally exhausting week and I didn’t have it in me to question why. Maybe it’s time. The universe was signaling more change. Fighting it is harder than going with the flow. And after all that had happened, a Christmas Eve change of venue seems a silly thing to be hurt about. It’s never too late, or too early, to start new traditions. I may start a few of my own. 

Our flight was early the next morning. An unexpectedly bittersweet trip, Savannah still managed to work its magic. 

In the glossy leaves of a magnolia.

In the sweetness of a praline.

In the perfume of a gardenia.

In the trickle of an unseen fountain, flowing behind a brick wall lined with creeping fig, softened by sprigs of baby ferns…

“Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days.” ~ Flannery O’Connor

“Art never responds to the wish to make it democratic; it is not for everybody; it is only for those who are willing to undergo the effort needed to understand it.” ~ Flannery O’Connor

Andy and I had been wanting to return to Savannah since we first toured the city together a few months ago, so we invited our parents along for a long weekend jaunt for some Southern charm and (ideally) some Southern sun. The latter appeared for a bit, and the former was everywhere we looked. Anything was better than the bit of snow upstate New York had, so we’re counting it a success, albeit a bittersweet one.

Like Boston, Savannah is mostly manageable by foot, but with Andy’s health issues and my Dad’s increasing infirmity, we kept close to our home base, opting for an Uber to get us to all our dining destinations. Luckily, the enchantment that is Savannah can be encapsulated and experienced within just a few of those magical squares, and from the moment we touched down and inhaled the swarthy air of the low country, we felt its spell working to erase the rigidity and regret of the Great Northeast.

Starting things off with some southern food at the Public (too conveniently located across the street from our hotel) we introduced Mom and Dad to the indelible fact that Savannah was, for us, in large part about the food ~ everything else came secondary. When our room was finally ready, everyone but me went back to rest up for dinner. I needed to walk some of that food off, so I ventured toward the river, following Bull Street through the pretty squares along the way. It was warm and sunny and felt so wonderfully far from November’s cold and rain. The camellia bushes were mostly in bud, with only one or two in bloom ~ I preferred it this way, cherishing each blossom like the treasure it was.

“The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience.” ~ Flannery O’Connor

As I reached the river, the sun was just descending and I got a text to call Chris. Sensing it was important, and not good, I called and he told me our friend Alissa had passed away. Chris had introduced me to her way back in 1998, and since that time we’d maintained our own friendship ~ from Boston to San Francisco and even halfway across the world when she moved to South Africa. She left behind a young daughter, Sophia, and my heart suddenly broke.

The sun in Savannah slanted differently then, as every sun every day hereafter would, and the loss would haunt me along every step of the trip.

Warnings of the steep historical steps leading me up away from the river were posted near the ferns and mosses of the crevices of stone as I climbed, wandering in a state of somber shock. I didn’t cry until I came upon a camellia bush in full bloom. I paused and inhaled its aroma. Alissa is one of those friends who truly appreciated the beauty and little pleasures our world has to offer ~ whether it’s a stunning dress, a bouquet of flowers, or a plate of artfully-rendered food. In this beautiful city, I sought solace in the gorgeous green squares, but there was none to be found.

Savannah, which was always haunted, now became haunted in a different way. A sadder way.

The light of the day drained away, sooner than I expected it. By the time I made my way back to the hotel, it was dark out. A volley of church bells pealed nearby.

The world felt lonely, and I was only beginning to process what had happened.

“Where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to was never there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it. Where is there a place for you to be? No place… Nothing outside you can give you any place… In yourself right now is all the place you’ve got.” ~ Flannery O’Connor