Grieving

My dad died 2.5 years ago. It's been a long, difficult process of learning what it means to grieve. It's a really awful roller coaster except that there aren't highs and lows, it's just all lows, some more terrible, some that aren't as painful.

I don't mean to be so depressing- in the past 2.5 years a LOT of amazing, wonderful, fabulous, joyful things have happened, and overall, my life is exceptionally happy in more ways than I can count. Grief is all consuming at first, but eventually it becomes manageable- just a small obstacle that you can deal with while still being happy and living life to the fullest.

This summer, I am grieving. I recognize it without question and I am crabby that it's back in my life and big and mean and fresh and all of a sudden back to square one to manage. This time it isn't my dad, it is camp. It's weird, because I am here and days are full and happy and kids are running around with big smiles on their faces and I am trying SO hard to live in the moment and not grieve before I have to. Buddhist books and deep breaths and all of my energy to focus just don't seem to be strong enough and I am grieving.

Today was the last day of the first week. About 50 parents arrived with big smiles on their faces and hugs all around. The nun who sends all of these kids this week was on the bus too (she provides a bus for the parents to come up for the parent ceremony). So many campers this week are returners, so I knew a lot of parents. After 7 years, the parent bus rolling up to camp is almost as exciting as the kid bus, and included almost as many hugs and "I'm so glad to see you again" greetings.

Sister had, unbeknownst to me, announced to all of the kids and parents that this was the last year of camp, so all week long, kids were asking about camp closing and the confused counselors were asking me. I answered the kids and staff with, "nothing is official, let's just have fun right now, say a prayer for the future and not worry." For the record, I got sick to my stomach every single time I repeated it.

When the parents arrived, many told me "you can't close down, this place is too amazing" and so I repeated the same line about not knowing the future and "I agree, we are going to do our best."

When my dad died, I got so many nice cards, emails and phone calls of support. But over and over and over again I found myself thanking people, assuring them I was ok and agreeing with them that my dad was an amazing guy and would be missed. I appreciated the support so much, but it took so much effort and was so incredibly gut wrenching to have to respond over and over that I just wanted to curl in a ball and ignore everyone. That's how I felt today.

I hugged every camper and told them I would see them next year, knowing that I probably wouldn't. After watching so many of them grow up over the past 7 years, this time was probably really goodbye.

At the staff meeting, we went through our highs and lows of the week, laughing and sharing stories- our chance to process the week. So many staff told amazing stories that brought the rest of us to tears. Kids including other kids, kids making friends, kids overcoming challenges- this place is amazing. Maybe every camp is like this, but I don't think so. There is something so incredibly amazing about this little camp. The community and the spirit of this place are like no where else in the world.

And so while I laughed and listened to the stories, and fought back tears of pride and happiness, I tried to ignore that sick feeling that comes from grief.

People die. Camps close. Life goes on. But there are no words to describe how difficult it is for those of us left behind. I know the pain will become small and manageable someday. And so I'm trying to live in the moment and enjoy it while it lasts. My dad died suddenly, so there was no time for last minute words or experiences. There have been so many times I wished I could say one last thing or ask one last question and I am so mad that I didn't get a warning. One day he was just gone.

The end of camp won't be sudden, so there is time for those words and questions and experiences, so I am trying really hard to appreciate it without grief getting in the way.

Ugh, this week was tough. I really hope next week is easier.