My hubby and I were recently volunteer camp counselors at this amazing week-long camp called Courageous Kids. It's an organization through PeaceHealth in Eugene that provides grief support for youth who have experienced the death of a loved one. I was a volunteer with the NGO and went to camp once two years ago, and dragged Alex with me this year. Here's his take on the experience:
By Alex Close
Last week I had the privilege to volunteer at a grief camp in the beautiful Cascade mountains. Some 50 or 60 kids ranging in age from 5 to 18 came out to summer camp for the same reason... loss. Each child had lost someone close to them, most often a parent or caregiver. Some cases were violent, some were not, but in almost every single case the event was tragic for the child.
We all process grief differently. But anyone who has worked with children can tell you that young people tend to process death in ways that adults do not. This, of course, differs with age as well. The teen campers tended to want to talk more. The girls cried and shared their feelings. I was assigned to work with seven- and eight-year-old boys. For these little guys it was summer camp. Some were sad, but for the most part they seemed entirely happy-go-lucky and distracted by the lake, the many toys and games, the art, the music and the ability to run around and frolic for four days.
Because of their age, there wasn't as much crying and "grieving" as one might expect. Don't be fooled, these boys were very hurt, but they dealt with that pain often through play.
And, like usual, seven year old boys say some funny, funny things.
While walking down the trail one afternoon toward the mess hall with one of my charges, there was silence in the air. The camp was quiet and we walked along just taking in the mountain breeze and the soft rustling of the trees. All of the sudden he breaks his silence to celebrate the glow in the dark monkey sticker gracing his name tag.
"I got my monkey, I got my monkey, I got my monkey!" he abruptly began to sing as he skipped along dancing with his name tag. I couldn't help it and started laughing... which of course made him infuse even more enthusiasm into his song.
While the funny comments are what make me laugh, it's the unbridled sense of innocence that I cherish the most from these young people.
While swimming one afternoon a buddy of mine asked if I could take him across camp to the bathroom. Of course. When we got there he strode into the stall and locked the door. I adjusted my expectations, this was a Number Two visit. The next instant a loud, squigey sound of nastiness came barreling out of the stall. My face twisted with automatic gross-outness. How does a sound that loud and nasty come from such a small body. I would expect it in the bathroom at a hot wing eating contest between oversized bikers, but a spunky little seven-year-old? Damn.
But, when my little buddy emerged with a smile on his face and a burning desire to rush back to the lake before swim time ended, I figured all was normal. We had eaten piles and piles of eggs for breakfast.
However, two hours later my little charge once again requested an escort to the bathroom. This time it was in the middle of outdoor games - a kind of camp recess after lunch. Again the little munchkin strode into the stall, locked the door and cracked off the nastiest, loudest most liquid sounding crap I'd ever heard... from adult or child. I looked toward the stall with horror on my face. Small sneaker-clad feet were visible dangling beneath the stall wall. I heard the toilet paper rolling off the dispenser. Then, in what looked like a trick of leverage, one tiny foot shot upwards. From the angle of his other foot I imagined this resourceful little boy had wedged a foot up against the stall and paper dispenser to get added stability, leverage and angle on his wipe. My previously disgusted mouth dropped open in amazement. Why hadn't I thought of that move?
Once again, he emerged with a smile on his face. It was all I could do to to mask my concern and horror.
"You feeling okay buddy?"
"Yeah! Why?"
In my mind I thought, you just blasted out your SECOND loud semi-sick sounding crap of the day, are you sick?
"I don't know, just making sure you feel okay." I opted for a less leading explanation.
"Yeah. If I was sick I'd have to go home."
"That would be a bummer. But you feel okay?"
"Yep, let's go play tag!"
He ran out the door, leaving me to stand in amazement that this tiny little person could make such awful, awful noises and not even feel phased.
But that's how it goes with the little ones. Emotions pass in nano-seconds. Interest flutters like a butterfly from flower to flower. Usually there's a smile on their faces, but even if not the storm will pass.
For more information about Courageous Kids: http://www.courageouskidsoregon.org/
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