One in Seven

One in seven children will lose a parent or sibling before age twenty. I was talking about this fact quite a bit last week before I headed to Comfort Zone Camp (see my previous posts for an overview of this amazing organization!). I guess I just found it difficult to believe. Those numbers seem overwhelming. So much grief. However, my being a part of that statistic makes it almost easier to believe in a way.

You never think it will happen to you. Even young children have this feeling. This happens to OTHER children. Other teenagers. Not me.

It took me this long to process my camp experience properly. Actually, I'm still processing. It's hard to put something so moving into words. But I'll try.

When the children first started coming in on Friday afternoon, I was almost surprised by how normal they seemed. Some laughing, some visibly anxious. A few energetic boys had started a soccer game before their parents could even wave goodbye. Kids being kids.

Kids being kids. But these kids don't have it easy. I started tearing up as it all hit me: Every child that I am looking at right now, all 60+ of them, has suffered an extreme loss. I won't see this anywhere else. Every child on this field, whether laughing and playing, nervous and unsure....each and every child relates to the others in such a profound way.

Soon after, I met my Little. Because of confidentiality, I cannot say a whole lot about her. But here's what's important: she was a beautiful, incredibly wise ten-year-old with a devastatingly heartbreaking story of loss. A story that could honestly be a movie. I wish it was a movie, and not real life. Not a real life that a child has to live.

But children grieve in spurts. The staff knows this. That's why the camp weekend combines silly games, screaming chants, challenge course, and other exciting, upbeat activities with "healing circle." The campers and their big buddies (like me) are divided into small groups by age, and these small support groups, headed by a grief counselor, meet throughout the weekend. During healing circle, the children can share their stories, pictures of their deceased loved ones, and feel validated.

I was blessed to witness so many miraculous moments throughout the weekend. I honestly can't count them all. Where to start. Watching a quiet girl from my healing circle walk up to the front of the room by herself during Sunday's memorial service and read a letter to her dad. Witnessing cheers of support from a group of children, coaching another child up the rock wall. Watching children who are bullied and left out at school because of their losses finally find a place where they belong.

Support is key. During healing circle, the children had the chance to give pins to another person who they felt did something positive, from being brave in sharing their stories to helping comfort another child. This is a beautiful technique, as it builds up the confidence of the recipient in a way, and allows the children to focus on small victories. I cried when my Little gave me a pin on our first night, telling me that I was an "amazing Big" and that she loved how we became friends in such a short time. You could tell from the smiles just how much the pins meant to each child.

But, as I'm now realizing, it wasn't the pins. It was the feelings of validation. The feeling of looking around the room and realizing that "these kids know what I'm saying." Don't get me wrong, each child came with very different sets of feelings, drastically contrasting stories of loss and loss types, opposing home environments. But they will always hold a common thread. And that, to a grieving adolescent, is priceless.

All I wanted was to be understood. I am so thankful that the kids have the chance to feel that. A substantial portion of the staff has suffered similar losses at a young age, so those feelings of "belonging" extended to us as well. I could talk about the other volunteers forever. We had a staff meeting each day, and I have never witnessed such a positive, upbeat group of people. People with no agendas other than to change children's lives. People with unbelievable passion. They lifted me up in ways I cannot explain. The definition of a community.

And now, as I lie in bed, I find my thoughts drifting to last Saturday night, as I dozed off in a cabin to giggling little girls with high-pitched voices, gossiping about Justin Bieber and crushes at school. One girl laughed and hugged her teddy that held a recording of her Daddy's voice. Little girls not acting like adults, but like little girls. While the other big buddies in the cabin and I jokingly scolded them to "go to sleep," I still found myself smiling as I put my head on my pillow.

How I would love to be surrounded by their laughter tonight. The sounds of angels, the loved ones with wings, who are channeling these little girls with spirit, always shining down on them with love.