When my Grandma Roark passed, we went to Cincinnati. I still vividly remember being curled up in the chair at the funeral home and watching people come and go for what felt like hours. It probably was hours. I still have the velvet dress I wore, it has dragons on it. Mom had told me that Grandma Roark had helped a lot of people over her long life and they had all come out to pay their respects. As it turns out, I've been to a lot of funerals over the years. Some were far more difficult to bear than others. I was reading over the old blog posts and my memories of some things are more clear than what I wrote about some of the dreams I had back then. That's okay, though, I was trying to get the words out. I suppose, when I would be writing, my goal was always to try to paint a picture, convey an image, that I have in my mind, to the audience. It's sometimes difficult to put images into words in just the right way, no matter how hard I try.
I have finally decided that, sometimes, what I want to convey is the air of a David Lynch movie that has sometimes developed in the past, in my dreams. I would be dreaming along, everything pretty typical, dream world, dream scenario, and then...awareness. I would know that I was dreaming, and then the world would shift, like suddenly it's blue everywhere and things are flooding. I had a lot of nightmares back then. I'm pretty sure that it had something to do with how depressed I was after Mom died. Fighting my own demons was what it took to be able to rest well--I wish I was exaggerating. I had to overcome so many things to be able to be here and writing this today.
Sometimes this is the only gift that I have to offer the world--my words. I hope it's enough.
Homer was kinda like our direct conduit to God. That's why it hurts so much that he's gone. When he preached, you could feel the light shine through him and it truly did feel like he was the Disney Princess of Preachers. I can't recall a time when I attended church that I wasn't moved by his words--that his message didn't touch upon something with which I had also struggled. And, it seemed like he was a natural at conveying the message of unconditional love, of being able to interpret the passages of the Bible and apply them to the struggles of our modern lives. I imagine he and Mom are in heaven arguing about the Bible again. Maybe they just do it for fun now because they have all the answers there?
There's a picture at Dad's house, in a silver frame, a candid of Homer and Bill, in which Homer is happily exclaiming, mouth open in a jubilant hoot, with Bill right next to him, close enough to throw an arm round his shoulder. I picture them together in heaven, having a grand discussion seated at the largest kitchen table ever, where even God is laughing uproariously. I like to picture them like that because they were so hoppy. I picture their heaven as all the happy moments of their lives stretching on forever. There are no words that can accurately convey how deep this loss is for not only his family, but also his friends, and our community. So I comfort myself by picturing all our loved ones in heaven together with Jesus at the big table, having an endless last supper with no Judas to betray them. It works for me.
I remember coming to the office in the middle of the day to visit Mom and Dad at work, and Homer being there and they were having a discussion about Community Ministries business, repairing or replacing some siding on someone's house or something, I think. Anyway, after quite a lengthy conversation that only had a little to do with Community Ministries and a lot more to do with their opinions on various world events and news, after Homer had left, I had asked Mom all about Community Ministries and what it was and what they did. I guess, as a teenager and younger child, I hadn't really realized that certain things happening were because good people in the community got together and tried to make things better for others. Every time there was commodities distribution, my Grandparents would always go and Homer was always there, among many other in our community who helped to hand out the commodities. Bill would make two different giant pots of soup beans, he would make a vegan pot so that Homer could have some beans, and one with ham hocks. I don't know what I thought was going on but, when I finally was old enough to pay attention, I discovered that it wasn't just them going and having a soup bean dinner together on a consistent schedule--they were actually prepared in an effort to offer a hot meal to anyone who showed up to distribute the commodities every month.
Mom's desk had been full of papers, snippets of interesting articles, various important paperwork, and, of course little notes about amusing things, an incredibly vague note about her and Homer agreeing about something on a specific date, I think something about the Bible, but who can know? When I went through Billie's office stuff I found that she had kept a binder of all of the copies of Homer's sermons that had come in the mail. Also in the desk, I found a trophy of recognition from Bill's time in Mt. Healthy serving that community. Here I was surrounded by such good people all this time and what the hell have I been doing? Surviving, recovering, and growing as a person? There's something missing here, I think, and I haven't quite figured it out yet, but I'm working on it.
This loss enhances all the others. I suppose that's why I'm having the morbs about it. It reinforces the uncomfortable reality that the community that we once lived in isn't ever going to be the same again. Yeah, you can still go over and scan some kinda card, pick up commodities, and are on your way again. I'm glad that someone's still doing the commodities distribution, although I wonder if anyone will take it upon themselves to buy the huge bags of beans for the soup every month? Do they do that anymore? (I'm sure it's fine.)
I guess I could figure out how to take up the mantle, I suppose, somehow, try to fill the bean void? Is that what I'm supposed to do? Should I cook large vats of beans? Is that what I'm supposed to do? Is that my purpose in life? To cook the beans? (I know, I know, I'm just being silly, trying to ease the pain a bit with a little laughter.) But we legitimately found the huge bean-cooking-vats, so I'm ready now! I could cook the beans!
I know I can't completely ease another's suffering--that I don't have the right to do so--but it doesn't make it any easier when someone you care about passes from this world to the next. I know everything is going to be alright, that we all will someday pass from our time here on earth in these vessels. And we will be reunited with all those who have gone before us when we do. I have faith.
This is what I see when I close my eyes and picture him: Homer in the pulpit, Bible and sermon pages open before him, and he looks to the book and reads a line, and he smiles, head tilting forward as he looks around the room, and then he says the thing that just...ties it all together and the anecdote that he began with has suddenly come full circle and he pauses, lets the silence stretch for a moment, and then hits you with some shit Jesus probably said verbatim (in Aramaic) back in the day, and suddenly you're dabbing your eyes and thinking to yourself that's exactly what I needed to hear today, how is that possible? And that was Homer--he had a way with words, too. And we're all going to miss him.
