I spent 36 hours with a bunch of hyper, talkative, and happy middle school students this weekend. It’s funny they call it a retreat when for me it was anything but that. 48 hours later I’m still recovering.

I trudged through the games. I was overwhelmed with the large group times. That level of noise and energy is usually something I can only handle for 60 minute spurts a couple times a month. Thankfully I got some alone time by washing pots and pans and by making a couple grocery store runs.

My part in the retreat was relatively small. I was genuinely happy to take care of all the food details for the trip. I inherited a love of cooking for others from my mom. I remember her throwing together last minute delicious meals for me and my friends in high school. I also remember 20+ people coming over 2-3 Sunday’s a month for big feasts full of laughter and meaningful conversation. So loading up a Sequoia full of groceries and lugging most of it by hand from the parking lot to the kitchen 300 feet away was worth every step. It made me smile each time a kid walked up and asked “what are we eating next, Master Chef Danny?”

The hardest part of the retreat was hearing “Matthew’s” story. He is a new kid in the group, funny, goofy, awkward, and emotional. We found out he just moved from Texas to live with his dad and stepmom. A few months ago Matthew found his mom dead in bed. He has yet to realize the severity of trauma he has gone through and is going through. He just knows he misses his mom.

I told Matthew I lost my dad to suicide. Normally when I tell someone about it, their face and shoulders drop. I see pity and compassion. Matthew’s face actually lit up. I think he sensed a connection… There’s so much I want to share with him. I pray I get the opportunity. I actually just stopped writing this for a second to get his dad’s contact info.

I’m still recovering, but I think I have something to offer.