I made it clear earlier that I was not sure I wanted to go to Memphis for the St. Jude Day(s) of Remembrance. This comes from my thought process that I have lots of people who love and support us. I have also had an amazing friend and support group around me. If I want to talk. I have people. I hopped into the car with my folks and Angela and we started the long-ish trek to Memphis with little concern about my ability to get through the weekend. 
We reserved rooms in Cape Girardeau for Thursday night, since I worked that day. Friday, around noon, we rolled into Memphis.
Contrary to some of the controlled chaos I have witnessed in the hospital, St. Jude knows how to organize an event. Everything about our visit was set up in advance. They had a room night covered for us. They had parking figured out. We never wanted for an ounce of food all weekend as they kept us fed while we were moving around the Memphis Renasant Center. It’s the giant building just over the bridge when you come into town from West Memphis Arkansas. Memphis’ version of McCormick Place.
Logistics. All good.
When we arrived, I felt like we were already hours behind. Once directed to our side of the convention center, we found a field of 100+ 4X8 display boards in varying states of decoration. I would say 75% or more were already completed. Ugh. We failed already! We hustled over to our blank canvas and unpacked a box full of segments that Mom, Carla, and Angela had preset. The preorganized panels could be rearranged to look like they did on our kitchen table over the past few weeks. It went up remarkably easily and we were 100% in 10 minutes or so.
As I expected… It looked like we exploded Summer all over the board. Photos, Drawings, Jr Rangers badges, and a #sweetdreamsofsummer patch covered every inch of the display. My biggest fear was that our board would be the ultimate “look at us”. This is not a competition that any of us wanted to be in… And winning is not a word anyone in the room is using. I wanted to move around and start looking at boards but after the provided lunch and “Family Forum”… There was no time. I had to head over to the “Dad’s Group”.
Remembrance day is more than just photos on a board. Its also events, speakers, and breakout sessions. All focused on grief.
I may have mentioned it once before… But when I was a kid, Mom and Dad signed my brother Don and I up for some therapy in Pontiac. It was several years after my Dad had passed, but we were little jack-wads so I think they were looking for anything to help or find the root of the problem. Our therapist, Mark Mcgartland had his hands full with us. I know for me, that I did open up to him, but I don’t remember feeling any progress out of it. It was a lot of young kid crying. We went for 6 months, maybe???
More recently, St Jude paid for Ang and I to have a virtual counselor with Wellnite. It was OK. I felt like I gained a little bit of knowledge from our talks… But Angela grew frustrated with it and we eventually stopped. Since we both had the same person, it tied us down for 2 hours a week after work. Maybe if we could have done it simultaneously with different people it might have been better.
I mention these so that you know that even though I tend to portray myself as “together”, I have talked with “professionals”. “I’m not even sure why I am here!” was screaming in my head during our arrival to Memphis. “I’ve done the hard work in the past!” If a therapist is worth their salt, they know why I am there and can see through my grand delusion.
My first session with the Dad’s looked like an Alanon meeting. At least what I would assume an Alanon meeting would look like in a convention center. I walked into the meeting room to find 20 chairs arranged in a circle facing each other. Oh God. What is this going to be like? “Hello, my name is Eric and I don’t want to be here… um… I mean… I want to talk about my daughter, Summer”. I sat down 2 seats away from another Dad and crossed my arms and slid down a little in my chair. I even crossed my feet. I was cold and not sure what to expect so I settled in. My body language must have been amazing! A Dad to my right shared my posture.
The room only filled about a ⅓ of the way up. Lots of open seats. I felt a little uneasy that I was now sitting so close to someone when we could have spread out.
The Moderator, John, gave a brief hello and asked us to go around the room telling us a bit about ourselves and who we lost. He started.
Some of you St. Jude folks might know John so I will hold back full details… But I want you to know that his story knocked me down. He lost 2 kids to cancer 8 or 9 years ago. Both to Meduloblastoma. I’m out, this dude wins. Why am I even here? If I want to talk about my pain, how do I compete? How can I complain? Fortunately, John was very chill, and he did not use his story as a weapon. He used it as a tool to remind us that this was a group that knows the pain. All the others in the room gave a short synopsis of their lost child. It was the worst icebreaker ever.
John had a few starter questions and I sat back and listened to others answers. The guy next to me said he lost his son 5 years ago…. And that he was not going to talk about it. His words. I looked at him and said, “You’re scaring the shit out of me if this is 5 years out”. He had no response. Yeah. I was that guy. Time ticked deeper and deeper into our 90 minutes and I was digging this. Really. I wanted more and more. I became this bottomless pit looking for information to use and help me on my journey.
Every conversation I had with someone back home felt less powerful because of the absence of relativity. Nobody, but somebody who has lost a kid can share grief like this group.
So
Damn
Weird
(I said this on Facebook earlier; The feelings of being surrounded by others felt like another level compared to everyone I talk to at home. It’s not meant to devalue those talks because they mean so much. But I want to emphasize the power of this roundtable.)
Some Dads lost their kids after months of notice that they had inoperable cancers. The worst stories were of children who never knew life outside Chemo. 2 months old and already sick. The ages of the kids taken ranged from months old to Summer. I think she was the oldest in the room. There were a few dad who lost teenagers. I was not far out from their experiences.
One Dad said he was happy to hear that some of the men admitted to crying. I thought “Wow… you have had a rough time if you have been keeping that a secret”. I also heard “I know for certain that this is God’s plan and his daughter is in a better place”. I was ready to get on my high horse about Mr/Mrs God and the “plan” for our kids… I still don’t get it. Also, I was fully aware of the irony of someone trusting the plan but still participating in a support group. We are all looking for answers.
John kept the group moving and at one point he talked about trying to make sense or gain purpose from the loss of our kids. It washed over me like a V8 moment. I remember as she was going through treatment that I had an inner dialog about doing something with my life that would be more rewarding or giving back more to others. I told Summer this when we were alone at Target House one time and she said, this is verbatim, “after everything they have done for you?”. Thanks, kiddo. This subject in the group this weekend, renewed my thought that we have limited time on earth and I don’t have long to figure this out.
We were down to the last five minutes and I looked over at the Dad who I sat slightly too close to. The one who said he would not talk… He kept his word. That guy sat there for the duration and I did not see him turn his head… Only look forward. There may have been a nod in agreement with others talking. But, there was never verbal communication. I said, “Still not going to talk?”. He shook his head. That was a no.
The Dad’s all stood up and some of us shook hands. I looked over at the silent man who had been at arm’s length. I said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be an asshole… I just wanted to make sure you felt included”. He said it was cool and no worries.
I went back out and met up with the family. Angela had returned from a mom’s group. Mom and Dad had been at grandparents group and the Nates had gone to a siblings’ group. We all chatted but did not share a ton about what we learned or heard. We all just agreed that they were good. We were making plans to scram to Joe’s Wine in Memphis after dinner (once again provided by St. Jude) as my group moderator, John, came up to me and we talked some more. He said he would be at the Dad’s group again tomorrow, but would not be the moderator, just as a helper. I told him that sounded great and that we would catch up tomorrow.
We lined up for dinner and tried to find a table that would still home 6 more. I found another “dad” from my group with a mostly open table. We joined him and his wife. This was a common theme over the weekend. I would join my new friends whenever possible to keep the momentum rolling with strangers. I am here to learn something dammit! 
Our mob of six then headed out to the liquor store. Joe’s sits on Poplar Avenue and has a crazy rolling neon light that screams retro. They also have an amazing selection of beers from the south that I can’t get back home. I was enamored with this place when we drove past it on our way to Target House every day at St. Jude and was glad I made the stop to check it out.
Joe’s Wine, Ramblin’s Joe’s Coffee, Novel (a bookstore), and the Game Cellar were all necessary stops on our “greatest hits tour” of Memphis during this visit. Summer hit all these places on days when she felt well and they became part of our home away from home. She did not drink a lot… But she did turn 21 while getting treatment. We kept a Real Lemondaide in the fridge for a special moment. I think she might have had 2 or 3 in a year.
That night, the Nates, Angela and I played Red Rising (a game) in the lobby while throwing back some drinks we purchased at Joe’s. Friday had not been too bad. I was looking forward to my sessions the next day. Even if I had no clue what Angela had signed me up for.
Day 2 coming in another post.