After weeks of hearing me talk about them incessantly, my friend, Lucas, came with me to visit Earl and Sarah about a week and a half ago. Their place really looks fantastic; a church group from Ohio came down for YouthFest and we were able to do a huge clean-up in the yard and paint the trailer. The results were remarkable, and Earl, Sarah, and their family were thrilled with them. And I was thrilled to have been able to help them to obtain something that they wanted so badly.
Lucas is a great story-teller, and I couldn’t wait for him to get to talk to Earl. Entering their home is always such a treat for me, and I was eager to share the experience with a member of my Jackson House family. Anything that’s worrying me outside their door melts away with Sarah’s bear hug and Earl’s kiss on the cheek, and I settle myself in for a visit filled with genuine warmth and hospitality. On this particular day, their son, Marshall, was over. He was freshly home from the hospital after nearly dying; he’d had a heart attack, and if his brother hadn’t found him in time, he wouldn’t have been with us that day. He filled me in on the details of his near-death experience. Forty-five years old, Marshall had almost a child-like quality about him. Despite his goatee and buzzed white-blonde hair, his perfectly round eyes and earnest manner in recounting the story reminded me of a kid trying to explain his way out of a broken window, baseball bat in hand. He lit up a cigarette as he detailed the shunts that had been put into his heart to prevent further complications. I allowed myself a small smile at this as I continued to give him my full attention.
We stayed for about an hour; Earl could have easily talked to Lucas about his truck-driving days all afternoon, but we had a few more stops to make before night fell. Earl and Sarah gave both of us big hugs, asked us to come again soon, and walked outside to bid us farewell. As we were pulling away, I saw Marshall with a new cigarette in his mouth. “Marshall,” I yelled out the window with a grin. “You just had heart surgery, dude. You gotta quit those things. They’ll kill you.” He smiled sheepishly, saying, “I know, I know.”
I attended Marshall’s wake tonight.
He was clothed in a white, slightly wrinkled polo shirt. His casket was very simple, with fake flowers adorning the foot of it.
I received word that Marshall had passed late this afternoon when Sarah called Family Advocacy - she’d apparently misplaced my number - and asked them to pass the message along, saying that she really wanted me to be at the viewing. I pulled into the funeral home’s parking lot, and was greeted with the sight of a huge group of people standing around outside the building. I walked toward the crowd, and spotted Sarah at about the same time she saw me. I saw her draw in a sharp breath, and she began to elbow her way out of the middle of her guests.
“There you are! I was afraid you wouldn’t get here!” She finally got to me and threw her arms around my neck.
“I’m so sorry, Sarah,” I spoke into her gray hair.
“Thank you, baby. He ain’t sufferin’ no more,” she replied, looking up with sad eyes. “Let me introduce you to the rest of my family.”
She took me around the parking lot, and I shook hands with the children I hadn’t yet met. Then she brought me inside to see Earl.
He was sitting against the wall, staring at the floor in front of him blankly. I’d only ever seen his eyes when they snapped with a bright blue flame in conjunction with a witty remark. Or when they endeavored - unsuccessfully - to hold back a sparkle under his hawkish white eyebrows in anticipation of a good story. Now, they were torn by an immeasurable pain that dwelled deep within them. It was as if I could see his broken heart through those eyes, and they caused my heart to break, too. He saw me, stood up, and hugged me. I told him how sorry I was, and his response was to ask about Lucas, to say that he thought the world of him, and to tell me how much he and Sarah loved me. Even at his lowest point, Earl took it upon himself to teach me about love.
Once inside the temporarily empty chapel area, I spent a few moments with Marshall and said a prayer for him and his family before the parking lot crowd began to make its way inside. While I was still at the front of the room, Sarah came in and slipped her arm around my waist. And that’s where she kept it as people began to filter into the room. At first, I was a little uncomfortable; I figured that her family would want to be next to the casket with her, and that I had no business standing there as she greeted the mourners. On the contrary, though, as each person came up to pay their respects, Sarah would hug them with her left arm - her right arm still firmly around me - and would say, “This is the CAP lady who painted my trailer. She’s my baby.” In between guests, she would rest her head on my shoulder, hold me close to her, and murmur all of her “why” questions into my sweater.
Earl came in to check on Sarah at one point, and he put his arm around her, holding onto my wrist which was resting on her shoulder. The three of us stood there in a familial embrace, the two of them exchanging looks full of hurt and worry for one another, and my heart threatening to burst at having the privilege of once again bearing witness to their simple and overwhelmingly authentic love story.
As the evening wore on, I came to understand that my role there wasn’t “transient volunteer.” It wasn’t even “CAP lady.” For some beautiful reason that continues to be beyond my understanding, Earl and Sarah had made me a part of their family. I didn’t have to ask for it, and I didn’t even know it was happening until I was already in love with them. They allowed their broken hearts to expand to include me. And for that, I consider myself to be incredibly blessed.
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