(please read chapter 1 first)

The fifth meeting Laura wasn't there, and while I missed her contribution to the meetings, I looked at it as an opportunity to be more at liberty to talk about things more. The other two men seemed to be winding down on their contributions and I tried to stay out of things as much as I could because really, we were there for them. But in their state of grief, you can only absorb so much, as in that time period of grief you only want to talk so much.

The older lady took the room a bit more time too and to be honest, I developed a certain love for her. No, not that type of love, but she was a friend, as sister, a mother, an advisor and with her grace, a great listener. I always loved anything she could provide, and she provided so much food for thought.

I explained how I handled the grief from Jean's death, not realizing I had no memories of her in my life; the Christmas party for the art department, and how harshly that affected me for the rest of the Christmas vacation, and while the older lady was encouraging the men to make sure they get out and enjoy life (which I agreed with), I explained the reasons I isolated myself in the darkroom, also mentioning that was the best for me under the circumstances.

I also talked about my reasoning behind the decision to commit suicide at the Rhode Island School of Photography and went into details of the letters I wrote in my attempt, so those I asked for help from would not grieve or somehow not feel responsible for my decision. I also let them in on the phone call from Dad regarding those letters, "Mike! What the hell has gotten into you?!"

Well I knew the one answer I couldn't give him was the truth, "Dad, I was going to commit suicide." It was fun to see everyone laugh at an awkward situation. I also again discussed on how my spirit must have somehow made the decision for me to live and I felt guided me to working toward living life again.

I ended that one with, "To be honest, I would rather be known as the class pervert instead of a suicidal person!" That being unexpected, created an air of shock and they couldn't help, but roar with laughter at that statement.

I told the group how tough Jean was and how hard Valentine's day was in sixth grade, not because of her, but how do you make it special for someone when you must give every girl a Valentine's Day card? I came up with a game plan and asked my mother if she could get me a nice adult Valentine's Day card and she got it right off the bat. "You want to do something special for Jean!"

We both had desks along the window, so when it came time to go to the bags lined up along the blackboard, I made sure no one was watching me and slipped Jean's card into her binder. Then went up and delivered the rest at the black board.

Once seated Jean looked through her bag, then looked at me and I motioned that my card was in there. She nodded, "No." I motioned to look again, and she nodded, "No" I started to look around like maybe I put it in someone else's bag, then looked through my binder and didn't find it. Jean appeared sad and a bit angry, but my saving grace was that it was time for the next subject. There was a very loud scream from Jean when she turned to that subject. The look on her face! With walking her home, she let me know that I got her and indeed, what I did was special.

[The part of the story I didn't tell was my mother and I looking through the Valentine's Day cards and Mom saw a couple of nasty cards that I believe were planted there and my mother got so upset, she put them all back in the bag and threw them all into the trash and said, "I am glad there won't be this Valentine's crap next year." Since Mom was upset, I was upset, and I wished I had the thought to pull the bag out of the trash and get Jean's. Walking home the next day, we thanked each other of the cards we exchanged.]

Another topic I talked about was how I discovered the person I believed was the drunk driver who had joined the scout troop that I was an adult leader in. It was ironic that he came in as my memories were coming back to me. All the adult leaders were around, and I was drifting off thinking about the memories when another adult leader asked me, "Who are you in love with?"

"Jean Murphy." The new adult looked like he crapped himself. On the next camping trip, the adult conversation was about the good old times when the adults were younger and they drank and drove, like having to look out the window to see the yellow line. Much of it was funny, but excessive and it got to the point I got pissed and said, "Yea, it's fun until you kill someone." Again, the man looked startled, then shamed.

As the camping trips progressed, he let more information slip out, where he used to live, what he drove and the more details added up to be the drunk driver who killed Jean. Then camping at Patuxent River Naval Air Station, I found out where he worked and only one other thing needed to add up, so at the campfire in the adult area, I asked, "Do you know Jim Murphy? (Jean's father)"

"Maybe, why?"

"I have a lot of details on the person that killed Jean and heard they worked at the same place and the driver that killed her was friends with her dad." He wasn't happy at that one and I decided to walk to the embers of the troop campfire.

He walked over to me and said, "Look sometimes horrible things happen that no matter how much you wish, you can never change it back. Looks like we both have something to live with for the rest of our lives."

"Well, I had all the details except a name, and with the way I felt after she died, I would have killed that person."

All he did was gulp and say, "Understandable." Then he walked away. He knew my capabilities.

The Ex-Scoutmaster came over and asked if everything is OK, "I think the drunk driver that killed Jean, is in the troop. Don't worry, I will keep it cool."

He then walked over to the Scoutmaster and I watched them talk and they looked at me, and then they looked at him. Little by little, they gave us chores that you had to work together and share, and we did together and never talked of Jean or drunk driving again.

The older lady chimed in and stated what the other adults were doing, and why that was important.

I then stated that I kept an eye on him and learned just how much he loved his son and was proud of him. My observation was even as a basic scout his son had more intelligence and leadership ability than much of the troop's scout leadership and he was very apt at doing the work required at moving up the ranks. To say the least, I was impressed, and it was obvious the love the father had for his boy.

But when it came to his wife, it was obvious that she was nasty, hate filled and vengeful; and took it out on both the son and her husband, who broke down on numerous camping trips. At one point he described the latest and held the emotions in and I walked up and told him that what he is going though, "I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy." He broke down and I gave him a hug.

Some time later he asked me about my marriage, and I told him, "Well what happened to you is happening to me. In fact, my wife hooked up with yours at a bar and they compared notes." This time he hugged me.

The grief support meetings are about an hour in a half long, so the meeting wasn't the Mike Show. Both men as well, the older lady contributed and while I don't recall all that they said, the contributions were enjoyable and/or informative. A support meeting is something you don't want to take notes or record because that changes the whole complexion and takes things away of how they are supposed to be as well, their purpose.

One of my contributions to a prior meeting was an implication that I can make Jean cry, so now I let the support group know that she made me cry too. Mainly because I always thought I did something that made me think I ended my relationship with Jean. Jean loved this about me! It was an unbelievable introduction to the Whiny Hiney Mike that Jean created.

In Sixth grade, I got into flirting with Laurie, the girl that sat beside me, and it wasn't about coming on or anything sexually related, it was just us being goofy. I guess we got carried away and our flirting was interrupted with Mr. Hudson the teacher, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Mike!"

Of course, we stopped, then it dawned on me that I had committed adultery and I started to cry. With tears running down my face I was thinking, You just committed adultery and Jean isn't going to want you to walk her home any more ... Or anything to do with you, because you are a lousy person and she's right...

Mr. Hudson saw me, stared and said, "Mike, I only told you to be quiet." Jean looked back, saw me with tears running down my face and smiled like you couldn't believe. In fact, I have yet to put a smile on a woman's face like that again. On our walk home of course I apologized and said, "I don't know what got into me."

"Well I do!" Was Jean's reply.

I assured her and promised that it would never happen again and seeing how distraught I was over what happened, Jean chimed in, "Mike, it's OK. Didn't I tell you she is one that it is OK for you to talk to?"

I smiled and thanked Jean. Fifty feet later I asked Jean, "What if I like one of the girl's I am allowed to talk to better than you?"

"Well, the reason you are allowed to talk to them is I know they won't like that, and we will both beat you up!"

We both laughed and I said, "That will never happen because I love you."

Jean smiled, squeezed her books and replied, "Mike, I love you too." Then she got mad and started pumping her fist at me. I loved when I could do that to her!



This was the sixth and final meeting and I was disappointed that the first man wasn't coming and wanted to know why, but felt it wasn't within my rights to ask. I did speculate that maybe he just didn't want to say goodbye. After Jean's death, I experienced that a few times. The heavy-set (maybe 400 pounds?) woman the parents asked me to date was the second.

[The first was nearing the end of the school year, as I was attending the Rhode Island School of Photography and was at a house trying to prepare a scout for photography merit badge. I was 19, but when his 15-year-old sister came in we studied each other and exchanged smiles. She was a plain Jane, yet so very beautiful from the inside out...Then I realized her mother was watching me and straightened up damn fast.

To my astonishment her mother suggested that I talk with her and ask her out, but not knowing how to handle it told her, "No you don't want me to do that, I have dirty thoughts."

Mom chuckled and replied, "Dirty thoughts? They looked like thoughts of true love to me. When I met my husband, we had those same smiles and have been married for over thirty years. I don't think you are a man like that, but if something happens, I just expect you to take care of her. Go ahead and talk to her."

That one never happened to me before, so I expressed something else that was on my mind, "Last year, there was a woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, but she was struck and killed by a drunk driver and the last time I said goodbye to her, she was in a coffin. I don't know if I am coming back and I am not ready to say, 'goodbye,' again yet." The lady understood exactly what I meant and pressed no more.

To this day I wished it occurred earlier in the year, but my landlord told me I couldn't stay at the apartment over the summer and I already had a job back in Baltimore, while I could never find one in Providence. I wondered that maybe I should have talked with her, because she had Jean's same smile that always gave me courage and the faith that together, it would always work out.]

The second man came in and he brought his salad machine with him, and as we all suspected, it was actually a food processor. I wondered why it had both the processing blade at the bottom and the grater at the top. I kept my mouth shut, because it has been making him the salad he likes, so who am I to change that for him? We all had a good time with it.

He also brought with him a, "What the hell is this?" The ladies nailed it right from the start, it was a salad spinner. I sort of chuckled because the ladies tried to show him how it worked, and it didn't work. It had a depressible plunger for storage and it was now my turn to showoff and show them all how to release the plunger and couldn't figure out how to get it to release.

It took a minute, but then I found out how to operate the plunger and it released and the Ladies took over and told him what to do and operate it. Then he said, "What is that button for?'

There was only one logical thing and I said, "That has to be the brake to stop it from spinning." The second man pressed it and it slowed down and stopped. Once again, the ladies told him how to use it. Then the usual mini service to start the meeting and we were off!

I had a question and reminded them of the shock I experienced and wanted to know if they experienced the same thing. The older lady didn't hesitate, "Oh, yes! My husband had cancer and I thought I was prepared, but upon his passing, I was in a state of shock for quite a long time." The second man sort of acknowledged that and nodded his head.

We went into our usual discussions and I felt the man seemed to be a lot happier and felt very appreciative and enjoyed the fact that everyone cared. At an earlier meeting I had mentioned the concept that grief is like a game of Russian Roulette as after seeing my grandfather die in front of my eyes, numerous family, friends and neighbors and I felt like I mastered death and grief, Jean's death would prove me wrong.

Previously I mentioned the stepping stone nature of my rejoining the class and going to my 30th high school reunion, but at this meeting expounded on the concept that what triggers a grief response is also a life long game of Russian Roulette.

I talked a little more about the what happened at the first reunion I attended, which was the 30th and the fact I enjoyed talking with the yearbook editor and sat at their table to talk some more, I asked the editor if another year book girl was there and she said no. Her friend sitting on the other side was the other classmate I wronged who was also with the year book. I knew they were friends and asked them if they wanted a picture together and the yearbook editor said sure, but the one I bothered yelled out a curt, "No!"

I realized my sin, so I apologized, walked away and observed the editor talking with her friend and the editor's back arched as if a spider went down it. I said to myself, "Oh God, why did this just happen?"

I heard Jean's voice as plain as day, "Mike, God wanted you to see your heart. God wanted you to see their hearts." [Not mentioned the group, I spent two years asking God what I am to him and the reply came in Jean's voice, "Mike, you are his eyes ears." I cringed because I knew what my eyes saw, and ears heard.] I told the support group; I basically went out and smoked cigarettes and cried for most of the night and brought the only classmate I didn't want to bring with me, Jean.

I also informed the grief support group, at that very moment, I learned the harshest lesson I have ever learned; that there was nothing I could have done to change things during my time at school because of how they were, not the way I was.

Before attending that reunion, it was so easy to blame myself. If I tried harder, if I was more friendly, if I was more social? Well I was, it turned out they weren't. The second man had to leave about an hour in and which left us with another half hour remaining and me alone with the older woman and Laura. I really appreciated the chat, and we continued to talk about grief, as well life.

That left me with the older lady and Laura and totally loved the chatting and input as well discussing concepts, ideas and enjoying each other's company, while my chair didn't change or move, it seemed like we had became more familial and I felt among the company of friends and family, something I appreciated very much.

I did bring up New Mexico and how it had been so special for me. I found it interesting that a interest and curiosity had developed about this aspect of my life, and so glad I can share it because really Philmont Scout Ranch, held some of the best times in my life and those memories too, helped sustain me throughout my grief.

I mentioned that Jean had a wonderful effect on me, but the four female classmates that lived around me, told me repeatedly that they hated me and they are going to make sure the rest of the classmates hate me too, and one had a brother in the scout troop that I was always in.

I gave an example of this as in sixth grade, a girl from another class that lived on the street below the one I lived on had claimed we played doctor. Basically, she said, "You show me yours and I'll show you mine," then I pulled down my pants and she ran away laughing.

I very quickly learned just how many friends I didn't have as I was asked if I did play doctor with her and the truth didn't matter. I was made fun of, humiliated and chastised, and I noticed an immediate shift of avoidance of in regard to me, even by some longtime friends that should have known better or at least listened.

It was a chilly walk home that day with Jean and she was not happy. I explained that I never played doctor with her, that I don't know the reason why she is saying that we did and I let Jean know my mother told her she didn't want her around me and to leave the property.

Jean said, "I believe you Mike." After a brief pause, "Did you play doctor with anyone?"

I told the older woman and Laura, "I know with the look my face made, I didn't have to answer that one." I don't think that Laura was prepared for the Whiny Hiney Mike that Jean had created, and the older lady tolerated it.

I let them know that tears started steaming down my eyes, and with that whiny voice imitated my thoughts, This is the last time your walking Jean home. She's going to tell you not to walk her home anymore and not to bother her anymore because I am a lousy person and she is right...

Well, Jean started laughing to the point she was distracting me from the shame of ruining a perfectly good relationship, so I yelled out, "What?!"

Jean said, "Mike, with the way you are, I am thinking of making you walk me home from school the next street over!" We both bust out laughing and I told her that she is the best!

She deserved much more accolade than that, but if I came up with the words, I would only screw it all up. So I always prayed to God that He gives me the words to tell Jean, and about another hundred feet later I asked to walk up to her and talk, and this time her force field dropped to three feet instead from the usual six, "Jean, I promise I would never do anything like play doctor or make a pass at you, because when it is time for us to make love; I want to do everything right."

Jean's arm popped up, her finger pointed and she screamed, "Two streets over!" I walked away shaking my head and laughing. -Unfortunately, the time for the meeting was over and Laura is a busy person, so I had to cut off the story there, but I hoped for them, it demonstrated the qualities that Jean possessed so much and why her death was so hard on me.

[ I would like to relay the rest of the story... Jean and I hit our turn off point, I assured her for the hundredth time, "Jean, your rules!"

"Mike, you may not like my rules, you could be stuck with me for the rest of your life."

"Jean, that's what I pray to God for every day."

Jean, started crying and turned to walk home, but ten feet later she turned and screamed, "Mike, me too!" Now we both were walking home crying.

That girl would repeatedly make that accusation of me trying to play doctor with her, which would hit in the school once or twice a year and eighth grade was the worst as my math teacher started calling on me as, "The doctor" with the entire class laughing at me each time. It took two days of that to really piss me off, so I put a booby trap in his desk that not only scared the hell out of him when he opened his drawer, but the rest of the class too.

He looked at me for a while, but the next day when he reluctantly called on my as, "The doctor,"

I responded as, "Yes I am, I am the doctor of explosives."

One of the other students chimed in, "I've seen him set his stuff off and what he makes, produces shock waves." That ended that.

But this doctor accusation lasted until 11th grade because I could never figure out how to get a handle on it. Then I did, as I said to my mother, "Mom, I need to cut up a color plate to one of your medical texts."

"Which one do you want to cut up?"

"The one on neglected venereal diseases."

"Is this for a school project?

"Sort of, Patty is telling people the doctor crap again." Mom got it.

I figured if she is going to tell everyone I played doctor, then I played doctor and had a field day with it all! If a classmate told me that story, "She didn't run away, she let me take pictures!" and I would pull out one of the color plates made to look like a photograph. Or, "She was the one that ran away, she pulled down her pants and her mother's vibrator fell out. My mother made me return it to her mother."

That put an end to that, but being concerned, I asked her if she really believed that we played doctor and this was her answer, "Of course we didn't play doctor and never will!"

"Then why do you keep telling everyone that we did?"

"Because, I love watching you squirm."

I wanted to talk to her parents about it, but they not only liked me, they seemed very fond of me, and her brothers thought I was really cool.

To be honest, most of the girls that stood out in my life were not the friendly ones. The girls that stood out in my life were the ones that ignored me and made sure I knew they were ignoring me, they were the one's that their greetings were either a put down or insult, they were the ones telling me that I am not invited to the dance and if I show up, everyone would leave. Or, insisted that I am invited, and they want me to go to the dance, even though there was no dance scheduled at that date and time.

There were other reasons unrelated to the girls as well; such as, living at the school's boundary, being hip deep into scouts not sports, or not hanging out at social places, going to a church that very few classmates attended, and being a slave to the darkroom because photography was another passion.

It wasn't until, 10th grade when I found some nice interaction with other girls; be they students from other classes or my classmates that modeled for my photography. Jean's presence was there as she apparently had her best friend monitor me without my knowledge.

Even though we might miss each other for a year occasionally, or only be in each other's lives for a minute here and there, or worse, in an English class together to drive the teacher nuts. Jean was a person worth waiting for.

Unfortunately, she saw the senior showcase of mine of, "That quality of Avant-Garde eroticism you impart..." and I really didn't want that as my display theme... I saw Jean walk by and she was hurt and I believe thinking, I had moved on. To watch her walking down the hallway pigeon toed and with her head down. That weekend, I saw her with another guy walking up my street, but it blew my mind that she would point at my house.

Before the next weekend, I pursued her right into the girls bathroom and let her know that I still loved her, wanted to be with her and she still had my heart; but I asked her that if she no longer wanted it, to please give it back. It was essentially a marriage proposal, but with out the words, "Will you marry me?"

I knew she needed a bit more time, but time ran out as that was on a Friday, and I would find out the next Monday, that she was struck and killed by a drunk driver the next day. ]

I totally enjoyed the grief support group and wished they were around when I suffered that grief, or people like the older lady who could at least explain things and let me know what I am experiencing is fairly common in grieving people.

What I had no idea about, is how I would be accepted or how would a grief that is 37 years old would be taken; yet how ironic that so much of what I said was not only accepted by the entire group, but seemingly valued, while all those years before, only a few people in my life (all classmates) seemed to accept my grief without irritation.

What I didn't expect, putting aside the grief aspect, was just how much a celebration of life and a sharing of the positive impacts on our lives through those we lost, as well the lives we were so blessed to enjoy the person before that loss. I was so happy about the honesty and openness that was in that room.

With the grief support group, I ended up totally enjoying their stories, as well how our lives were positively affected; feeling we all walked out a much better, more spirited and knowledgeable people. With Laura and the older lady, a lot of fears, details and concerns melted away and I was just glad to find myself in a room with people who not only graduated high school, but graduated life as well.