What is one way you honor your grief?

I show up and share to hold our boys up to the light and find love and hope with those who show up with me. 

What is one activity that you and your loved one would enjoy doing together?

With Jake, music in many forms. With him playing instruments live, sharing something new he heard, or us together seeing a performance.  

What is a food you and your loved one would share together?

Pizza

What is one word you would use to describe Brooke's Place?

Connection

What is your history/story/connection to Brooke's Place?

I’m Dave Meyer and I’m a Dad who is grateful to be here. When I go back to where our Brooke’s Place story began, my mind jumps to Christmas 2002. (A) My wife and I had decided to end our marriage. We were hoping to smile through the holidays and find a good bad time afterwards to tell the kids. Jake was 12, Carson 7, and Max would be two in April. By summer we’d developed new routines and life was going on. In July, the kids and I headed downtown for an Indians game with Jake’s Little League team, leaving Max at his grandparents along the way. Carson and Jake had fun with friends and the game ended on an Indians home run. On the way home, we picked up Max and stopped for gas. It was a gorgeous night. While I stood outside the car pumping gas, I could see Max through the rear window between Carson and Jake, chattering away. Max was a boy of joy, always happy. And he adored Jake and Carson. Right then my mind took a picture because this was something. My kids were in front of me and happy. I had been acting on faith that things were going to work out, but in that moment, I believed it. Then I took the kids home, got everyone ready for bed, and left that evening with peace in my heart and a sense of hope. Despite our family’s painful restructuring, we were blessed.

The next night was Tuesday, and I was at dinner with friends when my phone buzzed just after 8pm. Max had fallen in the backyard pool. Jake got him out and called 911. The ambulance was on its way to Methodist Hospital. I got there first. It was slow-motion chaos. No one could answer my questions. I was met only with blank stares, shaking heads, no words. It was surreal. Soon though, we were surrounded by a doctor in scrubs, a chaplain, and a social worker – all with an unmistakable look. Our baby was gone. Max drowned on July 22nd , 2003. Normal was never again, but there was grace that night amidst the indescribable. We got to hold Max, and though he was gone, he was still with us. Clutching him against my heart was everything. It was there that my grieving began.

The rituals we walked through that week were important. Deciding how, when, and where to say goodbye to Max was brutal. But we did it together and those purposeful tasks helped us get through the following week. Then it got quiet.

I went back to work because I needed to stay busy. I was driving north on 65 past Methodist Hospital when I realized I had no idea how deeply affected the kids were or what they needed. Right then I called a friend whose Mom’s was a counselor at Riley and asked what we should do. Her answer: Brooke’s Place.

We met Carol Braden first. It feels weird saying her full name because she’s always felt like somebody we knew. If you haven’t met her, you should. That night Carol was Brooke’s Place to us. She was welcoming in a way that allowed us to be comfortable exactly as we were. Jake was mad and wouldn’t talk. Carson opened up and told her things she hadn’t shared with me. I was just trying to hold it together. I felt unworthy and scared for the future. For Jake there was a lot underneath. He had taken a safe-sitter class that summer. Not only did he pull Max from the water and call 911, he also did mouth-to-mouth and CPR. At one point, Jake thought he brought him back after Max threw up and his eyes rolled. Jake was heroic but couldn’t save his little brother and it haunted him.

Our first Brooke’s Place program night was at Butler on a Wednesday. Carson wasexcited, Jake was leery, and I was nervous--just hoping things would go well. It began with pizza and then we split into groups. Jake and Carson went to rooms with kids their age, I went with parents whose children had died. It was a diverse group of strangers, all now members of a terrible club. That first night was powerful. Instead of being incredibly sad, it allowed me to exhale and feel hope.

There was as much laughter in that room as crying. I felt less alone. We all understood a similar emptiness– and that pain was a unique bond.

After group, we reconvened for the goodbye song. Carson was amped and started rattling off everything that happened as we walked to the car. She paused only long enough to ask, “Dad, how long can we come here?”

I was happy to share something I learned that first night. Something that has saved me a thousand times over. “Sweetie,” I said, “everyone grieves differently, so there’s no right amount of time to grieve Max. We can come to Brooke’s Place as long as you want”! She said, “Then I want to keep coming till I’m driving us”. Carson will be 24 in February, lives in Los Angeles, and still doesn’t drive. Another story.

Jake was quiet but seemed lighter. When asked about his night he said simply “When’s the next one?” I was relieved. Brooke’s Place gave us something to look forward to. And every other Wednesday we came back and plugged in—because we needed it. Waiting two weeks was hard and the kids would often ask “Is it a Brooke’s Place week?” The months with five weeks were the worst. I couldn’t tell you exactly what we were getting, I just knew that coming to Brooke’s Place made us more whole.

We came to group for almost two years when Jake was ready to transition out. From there, we began different chapters in our journeys grieving Max. I went through facilitator training and took on a new role at Brooke’s Place as steward of my old group. For Carson, theatre became her passion. She found new ways to heal and seek her truth through performance.

Things got darker for Jake. We were all rocked by Max’s death, but Jake’s trauma was pronounced. His path to light began to narrow and he struggled. We took him to countless specialists who diagnosed him with depression and anxiety, then post-traumatic stress. We tried desperately to help him, but still, he was in so much pain. He eventually began to self-medicate with marijuana, pills, and heroin. For a long time, we battled him, and he battled himself. But it wasn’t all hell. There were days of joy. Jake was a member of the inaugural class at Herron High School. There he won the “Difference Maker” Award in Integrated Chemistry and Physics, played cello and bass in the orchestra, (C) and was goalie on the soccer team. He graduated and was accepted at Western Oregon University—but he wasn’t quite ready.

Through terrible hardships to himself and others, he found a bottom in addiction, and with help, embraced recovery from what he learned at Brooke’s Place—that acceptance and support were there when he showed up and embraced the truth. Jake rediscovered hope, knowing he wasn’t alone, and he blossomed helping others. It was courageous and beautiful. We connected again deeply and said what we needed to say to each other. He and I could drive each other crazy, but we also knew how much we loved each other.

Jake was optimistic and wanted a way out, but addiction is tenacious. He had lined-up for a treatment center bed when he decided to get high one more time before getting clean for good. It was the one too many. Jake was 21 when he died of an overdose in February 2013.

When he registered to vote and became an organ donor, Jake left us a final gift. Like the time we had holding Max, we had days with Jake as they readied his organs, time to reflect and lean into the first wave of not knowing how to go on. Again. There I began to grieve Jake along with Max. Carson lost two brothers in ten years. Her Mother and I lost our sons. So, I called Carol and came back to Brooke’s Place. Back to the group where I began and later was a facilitator. Brooke’s Place was there for me again, allowing my brokenness to park itself safely a couple times a month to listen, share, grieve, and connect for understanding and strength.

It’s hard to describe what happens at Brooke’s Place, but I asked Carson recently her reflections and she said “Grief is weird, feels wrong and you don’t understand. Brooke’s Place is a place to be safe at a weird time. When you’re seven and don’t understand suddenly your brother’s dead and everyone’s sad including you, Brooke’s Place allows you to feel, ask, and say things without judgement—around people who understand”.

As to Miss Carson, she graduated from a Herron High School and followed her dreams west, earning a BFA from the America Musical Dramatic Academy. She’s living in North Hollywood and pursuing her career as an actor. Recently, she played a scientist in a Netflix commercial. I’ve haven’t seen it, but you can find her on Instagram.

I’ll never get over losing Max and Jake, but every day, with help, I try to go forward. Grieving happens. Healing comes from intentional practices like going to Brooke’s Place. In everything I do, I’ve got to keep showing up.

Today I’m honored to be here and share our story. I hope you understand what Brooke’s Place has meant to us: It’s been a lifeline of hope. Through our experience, I know how much your generosity touches lives. The need is great. I represent only one of many, many families. Please help us keep it going. Thank you for supporting Brooke’s Place and helping families like ours heal and go forward.

Finally, I want to express my appreciation for my family and those here today who love and support me. You have my heart. Thanks to Carol and Larissa for inviting me and Jill and Tara for bringing me back to facilitator training. I’m enriched every time I share about Jake, Carson, and Max. Special gratitude to all the facilitators and to everyone here, thank you for showing up and caring about Brooke’s Place.