Camp Good Grief

This weekend I served as a volunteer resource therapist at Camp Good Grief up in the Angeles Oaks mountain area. This is a weekend experience for kids ages 9 - 14 who have lost a family member due to illness. There were many very sad children, recounting their stories of watching family members die, or paramedics try to revive their fallen loved ones. It was a heartwarming experience, as it always is. We had about 30 kids and at least 30 staff, giving the kids one-to-one experiences with many of us. The weather could not have been more perfect, and thankfully, the incoming Santa Ana winds didn't start any fires or create problems for us.

There were a number of my students there, so I merely circulated around the various group meeting sites to be sure everything was going smoothly. Camp Cedar Falls is up about 8,000 feet high or so. All the adults got winded just walking up to the lodge after eating in the cafeteria. It was almost enough to make me want to skip meals! Kids were roiling around, up and down the hills, halls, trees--you name it. No fatigue there, unfortunately.

One very precious moment is still clear in my mind. I went to the young boys' group to help lead an activity. We had little white plastic flowerpots that snapped down into a larger clear pot. The inner and outer surfaces could be decorated with colored tissue paper and decoupaged on. It's a real dorky activity for teenage boys, but the 9 - 10 year-olds were immediately interested. There was tissue paper being pulled in all directions as they looked for just the right color and pattern to put on their pots. We told the boys that they could take a Sharpie pen and on the outside of the inner pot, write a message in honor of their loved one who had died. They fell to, busily writing in newly learned cursive writing: "In loving memory of ________" and "I love you, ________."

One chubby little guy with glasses was busy working on his flower pot. I could tell, just by looking at him, that he was taking this endeavor very, very seriously. He carefully wrote in bright blue, "In loving memory of Yadira" (not her real name) with big loopy, cursive letters. Then he sat quietly looking at the pot, his hands almost caressing it. A moment later, he sat studying the various tissue papers. Sorting through the stack of zebra print, butterflies, hearts, and miscellaneous patterns, he finally settled on a large floral print. The other boys were by this time talking together and trying to best one another in how they cut out their pieces of tissue. This little boy didn't talk to the others, but very slowly and methodically cut out several large pink lillies and put them on the outside of his pot. I couldn't help myself.

"Wow. Your pot has some beautiful colors on it."

He smiled without looking at me.

I watched several minutes and asked him, "Who are you making your pot for?"

"My sister," he said very softly.

"Oh. When did she die?" I asked.

"A couple years ago."

There was no need to say the polite, "I'm sorry." All our groups had been through that already, and everyone up there had lost someone recently.

"How old was she?"

"Nine. I was only seven." He said it so matter of factly, but in a soft little voice.

"Oh."

"Did Yadira like flowers?" I asked.

He nodded. "Pink ones."

He wanted to get more color on the inside and outside of his pot and didn't know how to put the decoupage glue over it. The activity took only about 15 minutes, but the whole time I sat with him, we hardly spoke. I'd just point to something and say, "How about that?" and he's nod and keep on working. It was a grave expression on his face, and I could see that his little heart was very hurt.

He worked at it some more and when the group leader called the boys back to their seats, he held his decorated pot up for me to see. He had left a little window where the words, "In loving memory of Yadira" could be seen on the inner pot. Big pink lillies were backlighted with bright blue paper underneath. One purple butterfly flitted across one side of the pot.

He looked at me questioningly.

"That is beautiful!"

He smiled faintly but continued to look at it as though he wasn't sure.

He turned it in his hand one way and then the other, checking to see that his message to his sister was visible. He looked around at the other boys' pots and then back to his own. He seemed uncertain.
"Honey, if Yadira liked flowers, she would love this pot. It's very, very pretty and just right for a girl."

The rigidness of his stance relaxed a bit and he nodded, putting it down on the vinyl papercloth to finish drying.

"Thank you," he said. And he walked over to join the other boys who were waiting to start a moment of silence. He sat down in his seat and shut his eyes. Then they flew open and he looked back at his pot, as it to reassure himself that it was still there. His eyes searched my face then and I smiled and nodded at him as if to say, "It's lovely and you did well."

He smiled a huge smile at me and put his head down for silent reflection.

Events like this don't come every day. What a tragedy that all of these children had been left without sibling, mother, or father. Their teary eyes and tense bodies said volumes about what they had gone through. They didn't choose to have these things happen to them. They were just trying to manage the best they could.

When they left today, their steps were a bit lighter and they looked more peaceful than when they came two days ago.

As I was packing up the van with boxes of supplies, my little friend, who was walking past, paused to catch my eye. Although he stood only three feet away, he waved at me, holding his flowerpot carefully in one arm.

"Bye," he said softly with a sweet smile on his face.

"Bye. See you next year."

And God bless you, precious one.