Aug
25
I didn’t write much publicly about helping with a children’s grief camp last summer. It was right in the midst of the divorce and buying my house and in retrospect I can hardly believe I managed to do anything at all, much less spend a week in such a demanding environment. But this camp gives back more than it asks, and I know I was processing loss and sorrow and change just like everyone around me. It was so bolstering to be among such good caring people, and I felt the exact same way this year.
The Courageous Kids camp has been going on for 30 years here in the Eugene area, serving children affected by the death of a loved one. I learned about the organization through hospice and have been working with them for a while now, in support groups and also a day camp earlier this summer. It sounds like depressing stuff — grieving children! — and it can be sad and heavy at times, but mostly it is a wonderful chance to be in a unique role with kids. Not their mom or teacher, someone who can listen and support and joke and cat-herd and just kind of share part of their world that might be hard to access in regular life.
We had a variety of ages: littles, middles, and teens. The littles were often a mercurial bunch, buffeted by too-big feelings about everything and prone to foot-stomping and weepy meltdowns. I really cannot say enough about the endlessly patient folks who were their cabin counselors, gently ferrying these kids through the days and nights with the most creative suggestions and distractions while always, always listening.
As a parent, when you consider a job that involves working with kids I think it’s logical to assume that you can simply draw upon your own parenting experiences and skills. But the way these young cabin staff members could talk to kids, acknowledging their feelings while expertly pivoting them towards solutions — it was really something. Of course, these are not our own children, but I kept thinking how my own tendency might be to say something like “Hey knock that shit off!!” as opposed to, say, “I hear that you’re wanting to get to the next activity, but our friends are still playing, so I wonder if we could find something else fun to do for right now?”
I do think I fall short in the teacher-vibe department (my cabin-mate is a special ed teacher and the way she could use her voice and words with young kids was BEYOND impressive) but I can bring humor to the table, and that’s my own personal best way in with all the ages. Silly jokes with the younger kids and brainrot with the older ones, and the feeling like I am their ancient crumbling mummy-dust peer of sorts. I know that sounds very HOW DO YOU DO, FELLOW KIDS and it’s not NOT that, but is at least a well-meaning version of that.
A bunch of us were sitting at the art cabin one afternoon and one of the teen girls randomly told me, “You look like some nice old lady.” I burst out laughing and teased her for that and for a while afterwards when I would see her I would wave an imaginary cane and tell her she was such a sweet little girl and then sometimes I would cackle like a witch and she would double over giggling. “I was kidding,” she’d say. “What’s that??? I CAN’T HEAR YOU, DEARIE,” I’d respond, groping blindly in the air.
There was swimming and art-making and singing and chef-made kid-friendly meals and candletimes for remembering loved ones and sand tray activities and games, four long busy days and nights in a beautiful setting. Swallows drawing giant swooping curlicues in the air and feeding nested babies in the lodge rafters, the glittering Fall Creek reservoir nearby, the great rising swell of cricketsong in the evenings.
It feels like such an incredible honor to have been part of this camp, and I am particularly grateful to have had the chance to go back. Last year was a bit of a fever dream, and this time I felt like I had more to give. But whatever I was able to contribute, I was paid in dividends. I can’t begin to assign a value to the experience of being in such a caring community. I’ll be there every year they’ll have me, just some nice old lady soaking up the good parts of humanity.
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