The Friday Afternoon Club: A Family Memoir

by Griffin Dunne

In the silent anticipation of the next volunteer, a father whose son had been killed by a stray bullet in Compton asked if I’d like to say anything. I wasn’t expecting, or even emotionally prepared, to speak, but it felt rude to be the only one not sharing their feelings. “I know everyone here is a parent, and from listening to all you have been through, I realize that to lose a child is very different than losing a sibling. It’s not more or less, it’s just different. Or maybe it is more, I don’t know.” That’s as far as I got before I started to blubber. I felt like an asshole to be the only person in the room who cried, but my tears kept me from expressing an anger I had suppressed throughout the meeting. They seemed to be saying that the grief of someone who raised a child had greater meaning than mine, that of someone who had only lost a sister. I’m sure that was far from their intent, and thankfully, my weeping prevented me from expressing such a self-pitying remark. On the ride back to Crescent Drive, I felt embarrassed by my display of emotion and hoped it wasn’t obvious. At a red light on Wilshire, Mom turned to me and said, “You were very brave, honey. I know how hard that must have been for you.” “No, Mom,” I said. “You are very brave.”