Numb

The week after my dad died, I was numb. The pain hit me in little bursts here and there, but mostly, I didn’t feel anything. All week, I repeated, “So… he died? He died…. So… then… huh.” I understood the words and I had been there when he passed, so I KNEW he was dead, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it and it was confusing to feel so numb. Eventually waves of crippling pain and burning rage washed over me and I then I couldn’t remember what it felt like not to feel anything.

And then camp flooded. Perhaps it is dramatic to compare camp flooding to my dad dying- they aren’t on the same level of awful things that happen in life. But as the waters rise around me, I think this might be the second worse experience of my life. I’ve spent the last few hours numbly repeating, “Camp is flooding… and it’s gonna get worse… because… we’re flooding… so…. then… huh.”

I’ve been trying to remain calm, take the days one at a time and not get dramatic. We lost a week, but that’s okay, because we kept all the campers and we’ll be fine.

And then I went to the town hall meeting this evening where the sheriff and the army corps of engineers and the lake association president and the county human resources people let us know that it was still going up nine more inches and that it would be 6 weeks to 2 months before it would be back to normal. And hey, you know all that water we’ve been walking through every day to measure and take pictures? Um, yeah, in a flood, you should assume all standing water is contaminated because once it rises over septic tanks, it’s, well, kind of poop water. And the water we’ve been drinking and showering in, yeah, that’s probably bad too. This dramatic little adventure with my loyal staff who’ve so nobly stood by my side as we’ve fought to save camp is going to become an insurance nightmare when they all get sick. I don’t want to be in charge of people any more. It’s too much pressure and responsibility.

We left the meeting and all of them looked ready to cry or panic or whatever you’re supposed to do when you realize you’re in the middle of a disaster. I was numb. I was silent. And I think that made it difficult for them to decide how to respond. Finally Counselor D said, “so, are we going to talk about this at some point?” I told her that I needed to eat something and call some people and then we would talk. I ate dinner, called my best friend to numbly repeat all of the information I’d just received and try to process what it meant. Then I called the Board President and calmly told him what was happening.

What’s happening is that we need to cancel two more weeks of camp (possibly more). What’s happening is that when your season is 9 weeks and you lose three of them, it’s really bad. What’s happening is that this camp that I have fought for and worked so hard to pull out of a hole is slipping away from me. All of the progress that I’ve made for 4 years is getting literally washed away.

I’m numb, because it’s just so awful there is no way to comprehend how bad it really is. But this time around I know that the feeling is temporary and there are a lot of really terrible feelings around the corner. And there’s nothing that you can do to stop them, nothing you can do to correct the situation because sometimes awful things happen in life that you have NO control over so you just take the pain, because that’s the only option.

So tonight I’m numb and I’m thankful because I know that pretty soon, I won’t remember what numb feels like. Tomorrow I have to make about 150 phone calls and be a strong, confident leader when all I really want to do is lay down and cry.