https://everythingspeakstome.com/files/original/9537917b688a08c2dacd384af8a5efe9.jpeg a5a81e8f6e63c9117649e4b9e9b4fb9e Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Text Please post your written submission in this field. The images you would like to include should be posted as attachments below. “We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community” (Dorthy Day). Community is something of which you are a part. Simultaneously, community is something bigger than you. Living in a small part of Miami, my life has been filled with community, with people who pour into me. My world was imploding, in 2017; everything was not going the way it was supposed to. The year prior, my dad was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer which had metastasized to his liver and spine. My dad, in my eyes, was invincible. He would be the one to beat cancer, if anyone could. Yet unlike breast cancer which has hundreds of different types of chemo, colon cancer only has four. None of them worked for my dad. On November 17, 2017, after thirteen months of fighting with everything he had, my dad passed away. That day was the longest day of my life and my community showed up. They showed up the months leading up to his death and especially after. Community kept me standing tall. Everyone dropped everything to be there for me and my family. For the weeks leading up to his death, our house was a constant rotation of friends, families, and home-cooked meals. People would come sit on his bedside and make him laugh. He lost his ability to speak so his laugh looked more like a big smile. We would jam out to his favorite music with him in the bedroom, putting on full productions. His favorite musical was Rock and the Rabbi. My brother and I would perform all the music, all the characters, and sing our hearts out. I still know every word. People would bring homemade Cuban dishes, which were my favorite things anyone brought. But so many families brought lasagna. Lots of it. I still will not touch lasagna. This wonderful sense of community in our own little part of Miami was my comfort. This one day, we got black beans, rice, pork, and plantains. My meal that feels like home in every bite. The smell of Pinecrest Bakery’s tequenos and croquetas permeated the house. The food was the silver lining of this life changing time in my life. The night of my dad’s death my house was filled with people. It was overwhelming but looking back, I would not have it any other way. Conversations were bouncing off the walls. My family found comfort in the embrace of friends and loved ones. I was broken but my friends were there. They wiped my tears and made me laugh. It was such a haze. Yet, there was this beauty of how such pain brought so many people together to celebrate my dad’s life and to console the left behind. We played hide and seek in the streets. We hid in trucks, behind trees, in bushes, and laughed our hearts out. “Grieving is love with no place to go” (Bill Spence). Grieving with this community gave love a home. After a few weeks, people started fading out. My house grew empty, quiet, and eery. All I remember was the white walls feeling like a hospital room, even though I was in the “comfort” of my own home. The community lifted my family up but their lives moved on, while mine, well, was in slow motion. Through this, my family found our core community. Who showed up? And more importantly, who stayed? Over the first few weeks, many men told my mother that they would step up as a father figure in my brother’s and my life. That never happened. The community that we found in the few consistent friends became our foundation. They still are. Yes, my father’s funeral had over 500 attendees but there was just a handful who through the years have never left my family’s side. Community does not always mean location either. My best friend, 925 miles away from my Miami community, was my rock. She always is. She shows up at my doorstep even when she knows I just need a hug from my best friend. My mom's college best friend flew down from Michigan just to sit by her side at my dad's funeral. Community makes the difficult and painful times in life bearable. We share our struggles and build each other up. They distract you, comfort you, share in laughs, and cry with you. I could not have gotten through the loss of my dad without my community. I know my dad would be so happy to have known how our community and his friends showed up for his family. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Grief Finding a Home Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Isabella de Paula Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 10/03/2004