With a Little Help From My Friends

Here is a tribute I wrote to my friends. I wrote it about ten years ago.

"Men are stereotyped as the strong, silent types. You know, not exactly forthcoming with information, bottled up emotions, men of action not words. I am one of the worst in this regard, just ask my wife. But I have experienced the love, compassion and humanity of a group of men that causes my emotions to swell even now, eleven years later.

I moved to my wife Sandra's native Philadelphia shortly after our graduation from college. We had married there and decided to settle. Although I was familiar with the city, I had few friends there. Most of our friends were old college buddies of Sandra's, a great group of people who I bonded with immediately and who remain friends to this day. Our daughter Jessica was in nursery school, we both had good jobs, we had bought our first house and our son Spencer was born. Things couldn't have been better, we were living the American dream. Then Spencer got sick. What we first expected to be chicken pox turned out to be non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. After thirteen months, four chemotherapy protocols, radiation treatment, a struggle for life caused by a nicked artery while installing a broviac catheter and an attempted bone marrow transplant, Spencer died. At 35, I learned what it means to have a broken heart. My wife, my friends and I struggled to make sense of it all and nine months later, Jessica had a malignant tumor removed from her neck and was diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. Back to Children's Hospital for more chemotherapy, intensive at first, then maintenance therapy. Along with Jessica's medical therapy, Sandra and I received grief counseling and I started to get individual therapy to help me deal with my losses. Not only was my son dead, but now all sense of security and justice.

Sandra was struggling more than me as she lost her Irish twin brother around the same time. She had a core group of girlfriends who listened, comforted, and cushioned her with their presence. Sandra and I have a strong marriage. We comforted each other as best we could, but when you are both suffering, it's hard to lift the spirits of your spouse. And I talked... I talked a lot, to friends and counselors. But it was the action of my friends that saved my faith in humanity and demonstrated love and compassion. Take the suits for instance. I was a young architect and the only suit I owned was the one I was married in. Over a period of weeks, my guy friends were showing up at my house with hand-me-down suits that didn't fit them anymore. Could I use them? Some were hand me downs, others were brand new and at the time I had no idea that this was a coordinated effort. Then there was the shore. Some of our best friends are siblings who owned a shore house together. The Heavens were given our own key and bedroom. We shared seven summers of healing there. And the sporting events I attended with my pals like the Eastern Regional Finals where Duke beat Kentucky 104-103 in overtime (claimed by some to be the greatest college basketball game ever), seeing Michael Jordan and Charles Barkley in a playoff game at the Spectrum and the Phillies playing the Braves in the 1993 National League Championship series on a steamy summer night at the Vet. Memorable events that were predicated with, "we've got an extra ticket, can you make it?". I don't know for sure who initiated these responses from my friends, but I have suspicions. There definitely was a core group of men who made me a part of their family, and they prompted others to action.

We have all moved on since those tragic, yet glorious days. Jessica is cured and is starting to look at colleges. We have two other children, Lauren and James. We are in a new house and new jobs. But most of our friends still live within the metropolitan area. We see each other occasionally, attend important family events and are busy with the daily routine of making money, raising our families and trying to enjoy life. It seems mundane compared to the old days, but creates time for reflection. My friends didn't just listen to me during the most tragic time of my life, they picked me up by the elbows and carried me. For that I will be forever grateful and humbled.

I use the poem "If" by Rudyard Kipling as a compass for my behavior as a man, and when my son James was born I framed a copy and put it in his room. Perhaps it is hokey in this age, maybe the sentiments are a bit simplistic or dated; but it speaks to me. My friends have shown to me that sometimes, actions can speak louder than words."