I need therapy.
Oh, you already knew that? No. No you didn't. Because this is new therapy that I need.
Remember that one time when I told you about
Camp Kesem?
Yeah, it happened.
It was so incredibly amazing, I can't quite come up with the words for it.
Other than that I now need therapy, but we'll get to that.
Prior to Camp, if you asked me how I felt about it I would have gone into a rage blackout about how much I hated every minute of it and that it was ruining my life. Which, it turns out, it was. For the last six straight months I didn't sleep like a proper person. I didn't function like a proper person. I couldn't think like one either. It's a blessed miracle from The Good Man Above that I actually managed to graduate from college (word.) without having to be committed. And that's not even touching on what happened for the three weeks prior to camp, people. Every time my phone made any sort of vibrations or noises my blood pressure went straight through the roof and I would go into full on anxiety attack mode. Twas not a pleasant experience. (But if it did teach me one thing, it was the ability to make decisions and to make them quick. Which, if you know me, you know is not one of my specialties. I can't even decide what to wear to bed most nights, and that's why no pants are the best pants. kthanks.). And all of that doesn't even touch on how many times I was yelled at slash abandoned slash told I was completely incompetent slash left to my own devices.
In the midst of all the chaos I also had the privilege of figuring out how to feed 50 people 3 meals a day + snacks + paper products for a whole weeks time. Let me tell you what people, if you're wondering how this lazy creature could actually belong to my mother, know that I did all that for $1.53 a meal/person. Including the snacks and paper products and mass amounts of Tang (it turns out 12 year old boys really
really like Tang. gagmewithaspoonusedtostirthattang). I am my mothers child after all. And if you don't know my mother, you don't know what I'm talking about. Which is sad, because everyone should know Catherine. And if you won't tell anyone, I'll tell you a secret: she did a whole lot of that meal planning/shopping list making/sale searching business. I, however, swiped the card thousands of dollars worth of times. It was quite nice. I could get used that.
Somehow along that path I lost my marbles. I think it may have been the 3am trip to WinCo after laying in bed for hours thinking about the price of rice. Literally. I couldn't sleep over rice. And a lot of other things, too. I firmly believe that was the night I snapped and went full blown crazy. And the crazies only got worse and worse as time went on.
I would like to take this time to apologize to anyone who encountered me in the last month. Don't worry, I'm better now. My mother herself even stated that she was glad I would be back to normal old me. And all this time I hadn't realized how far away I had ridden the crazy train. For real. Sorry.
The Saturday before Camp was to commence I had the pleasure of picking up one young man who I had never laid eyes on in the history of my life from the airport. He was sent clear from rural Alaska to tame the crazy and put out the fires (metaphorical and real, I was so scared about the camp site burning to the ground in a forest fire induced blaze whilst we all slept peacefully dreaming of sugar plum fairies and s'mores and stuff). Before we even left the parking garage of the airport I let the crazy out on him which he kindly took in stride and saved the day on many occasions. What a champ. I maybe owe him my life practically. I just hope he never comes along asking for it. And here he and I are with our Camp Kesem TieDye badge of honor. At least that's what they kept saying it was:
Seriously, that boy saw more of my tears in the seven days I knew him that probably all of you minus my mother have ever seen in the history of ever all put together. It was ridiculous. And if he ever in his life stumbles upon this business: Thank you. For ever and always. I was about to apologize for all the tears but he also taught me to stop saying sorry unnecessarily. Thanks for that, too.
So anyway, I was a hot crazy mess. All the way until about 5:00pm on Sunday afternoon when we were actually on our way to camp. Then all of the sudden the crazies went away. I mean, I was still a hot crazy mess, but nothing like the three weeks prior. The feelings I had inside of not being panicked about everything in sight/sound/thought was so new and foreign and I had no idea what to do with them. So I ate sweedish fish and sour patch kids and corn nuts and trail mix and sang my heart out all the way to the middle of nowhere with the boy and my pal Sarah, affectionately known as Sparky whilst at camp. I also owe her my life. She saved the day like nobodies business. Word up girlfriend, thanks for dealing with the crazy and then coming to camp and making it happen.
The next morning we woke up and our magic little campers showed up. Slowly. One by one. Actually, more like a bunch by bunch because they came in families and car pools. And it was awesome. Highlight of the morning was when our resident six year old comedian was asked if he wanted to put his name Starfish, on a name tag. His response: "I don't know how to spell Starfish, I'm only six years old. Cut me some slack." Now imagine that in a six year old voice topped off with a baby lisp. So adorbs I almost died right then and there. He was the comic relief all week long.
And that's when the party started.
We sang
We danced
I cried
We played capture the flag
and pirate baseball
and sink the ship
and water balloon volleyball
and another game of capture the flag
I cried
We ate delicious food
and too many snacks
We made friends
and played more capture the flag
We laughed too much
and I continued to cry
We told jokes
We talked about cancer
and I kept on crying
and passed the tissues
and captured the flag again
We let our guard down
and played like kids should play
I cried some more
We drew pictures
and made paper canoes/teepees
We fell down and scraped out knees
and got a multitude of splinters
and had to have stitches removed
but thankfully not put in
and I cried
We saw real live cowboys
and made ice cream
and planted seads
and I cried again
We cabin chatted
and empowerment programmed
and captured the flag over and over
And all the while I cried my eyes out.
Because my heart, it ached. Like nobodies business.
It ached for those kiddos. For their pain and their heartache. And for the fact that no ten year old should have the terminal in their vocabulary, let alone know what it means. Especially in reference to their parents. A six year old shouldn't be able to tell you the side effects of chemo. And no kid should worry about what their new born baby brother is doing while their mom has the scary surgery to get rid of the cancer while they came to camp.
And it ached because I remembered. I remembered things that I thought were long forgotten or that I just didn't have any memory of because after all, I was only six and six year olds don't understand and they don't know what's going on and they surely won't remember. My friends, I'm here to tell you they do. All those things put far back into the darkest corners of my mind came crashing back from the summer after kindergarten when my wonder woman of a mother fought her own cancer battle. 18 years later and I remember.
my mama and I at Camp. She was our camp therapist.
She's pretty great like that.
It ached for them because I know how the next 18 years of their life
will be. The worry and the anxiety and the panic that comes with every
doctors appointment and every good bye and every moment of every day
when they're not in control and don't know what's going on. Every worry that maybe mom or dad or both won't come home this time. And not just won't come home from the doctor or the hospital, but the worry that they won't come home from the grocery store or work or that they won't be there after school. It never goes away.
And that's why I need therapy.
But does it have to be like that? I don't know. Do they have to shove their childhood into the back of their minds, never to be remembered or thought of because of the pain and heartache that it brings back? Survival mode at it's finest, but I'm thinking it doesn't have to be like that. These kids, they're going to remember their experience at Camp Kesem. They're going to remember that instant connection they made with that one special friend (seriously, if you have never seen two 12 year old boys become instant best friends, I don't think you've truly ever lived. It's better than riding space mountain at Disneyland 37 times in a row. And I loooove space mountain). 18 years down the road when they hear someone 15 years their younger say "when my dad told us my mom had cancer..." will they be sucker punched in the gut with memories they thought didn't exist, or will they remember that time a little differently because they had a group of friends who knew and understood and loved them with a fierce love that only people who know can have?
I hope it's the latter. I pray for those sweet little ones that it's the second choice.
And I would take a ride around the crazy block 23984 more times to make sure that the 29 of them that joined us this summer had the experience they did. Because in the end, it was all worth it. All the tears? Worth it. All the sleepless nights? Worth it. All the times I was yelled at? Worth it. All the fundraisers we desperately put together to get those kids there? Worth it. All the days spent sitting in class but learning nothing because I was praying my heart out that some how it would work? Worth it. All the crazy panic and anxiety? Worth it. The therapy I'm going to need from this experience? Totally worth it, I can already tell.
And I would do it again in a heart beat.
One camper put it quite perfectly with this picture:
Yes we are little one, yes we are.
I hope that when they turn the ripe old age of 24 that they will look back at the experiences that they are going through now and remember how very very strong and incredibly brave they are. How fierce they must be to hold themselves the way they do. How much more empathy and love they have for other people because they know what it feels like to fight back the tears and press on with courage beyond their current 10 years.
I can only imagine what the last 18 years of my life would have been like if I had had the opportunity and experience to take part in something like Camp Kesem. What would it have done for me? In 18 years I hope I can see these kids again, see where they have been and what they have become and the power that they have. Because even after just 5 days with them, they changed me. More than you or I will ever in this life know.
And for that I will always be grateful
**if you're interested in making a difference and helping make Camp Kesem happen next year, please ask me how. There might even be a local chapter where you are at that you can get involved with.
