Pilgrimage to L'vull

Why this pilgrimage? Why have I travelled 2000 miles back to L’vull, my childhood home which I left 30 years ago? Like all pilgrims, do I hope for transformation? Will I find myself in the presence of God? Or am I just returning to “the scene of the crime,” trying to get it right this time?

Thursday morning I step outside and the very texture of L’vull air catapults me back. Suddenly I am seven years old. Running through wet grass. Green beans with bacon fat. The reflection of my face in the bathtub faucet. Nighttime traffic noises. Everything had magic in it.

But magic also carries danger. At age seven everything bad got stuck inside me too:

When L’vull built its first freeway, my family took a spin on it. Such novelty! Imagine having a minimum speed--35 MPH! Windows down, fast breezes rushing in. It’s a beautiful May day. We barrel along, happy.

Then my mom yells, “Dad, you’re supposed to exit here!” He swerves, but can’t make it through the flow of traffic. Suddenly he is purple with rage. “It’s all your fault!” he screams, driving with one hand while he beats her with the other. No more happy family. We kids cower in the back seat.



Before I left home on Tuesday, I called the 800 number to locate an Al-Anon meeting in L’vull. The operator said, “There’s one at the Star Hill Library…” Before she could give directions, I said, “Say no more.” Star Hill was OUR branch library, just half a mile from our house.

I park a few blocks away, so I can walk down the same sidewalk I’d trudged so many times as a kid. There, just as I remembered, is the big gothic building, warm light shining from the windows. In the basement, a cardboard sign: Alanon Spoken Here.

I sit down as the chairperson reads, “We welcome you…and hope you will find the help and friendship we have been privileged to enjoy.” At once huge tears float down my face. I remember all the years I’d spent alone in this town, thinking I was the only person in the world with a crazy alcoholic father. What a difference if Lyttle Poe could have wandered into her branch library and found a room where she didn’t have to cower any more.

I do walk out transformed, get in my car, and drive down the old freeway. Enchanted by the jewel-like trees, the Abe Lincoln fences, I realize I am all grown up now. If anyone gets violent, I can leave.

L’vull has become my Lourdes.