Grief Camp

The other day I was reading the newspaper. I came across an article about a camp for children who have lost a parent. It’s called “Grief Camp.” Having recently lost my mother, I read the article with great interest. Grief Camp. I could get into that. I’m grieving, and I …hate camping. Hmmm. I guess they don’t have grief …shopping. Or grief…Chinese buffet. Now that’s what I’m talking about. So I called my sister and told her all about grief camp. I think we should go. How old do you have to be? Hmmm, lets see….ages 7 to….18. I guess 40 is too old. Would they fall for a big boned kid with glandular issues? No. Well, that didn’t stop my sister and I from thinking about how it would be if we signed up for camp. Check-in. Do you have private rooms? We would both have to sleep on the bottom bunk. Those little 2x4’s that hold up the top bunk would snap like a toothpick. How would you like to be the 8 year old, on the bottom bunk and see me climbing the ladder to the top bunk. These kids got enough to worry about without having to think they’re going to be smothered by a mattress in the middle of the night. Breakfast? This is my sister. Uh, yea, I’ll have a large skim, light foam, mocha latte with 2 splendas, on the side and could you put that in a travel mug? Oh, and a 7 grain oat muffin with some…..lite raspberry marmalade….no, I’m feeling crazy…I’ll take some low fat strawberry cream cheese. On the side. The cafeteria kid would just look at her and say….we got milk. and …and cereal. What’s a travel mug? Now breakfast may energize little kids but personally it makes me sleepy. I would love to make a paper plate kite, but without coffee first, I’m gonna have to catch you after my morning nap. Ok, you wake me when..its, lets say, lunchtime. Alrighty than, have a good time. I prepare my sister for the reality that they more than likely do not have a sushi bar at lunch. I know, I’m just as surprised as you are. I tell her I’ll wrap some hotdogs in leaves if that will help. She says it’s not the same, and weeps openly. The low latte level is taking its toll. We go to fitness hour. They want us to run an obstacle course. We both decide to fake sprained ankles. We fight over who gets a right sprained ankle and who gets a left one. I tell her I’m going with a pulled hamstring. Then she wants to go with pulled hamstring. I was gonna go with chest pains, but with being 40 I thought they’d want to airlift me out. I just want to take a nap in the infirmary, lets not get crazy here. As it worked out, she went with the left sprained ankle and I threw up the hotdogs and leaves. We both get to nap. They have one of those “trust exercises” where you have to fall backwards to show that you can completely trust someone. They teamed me up with a 9 year old girl. I totally trusted her, she had honest eyes. And as it turned out, really weak arms . She was a good kid, and I bet she didn’t mean half of the things she shouted as they strapped her to the backboard. The important thing is, she was trustworthy. Ten weeks in traction? She could do it standing on her head…oh, she will be standing on her head? What a trooper. Is that the dinner bell? I don’t think they are really going to let us go to grief camp. I figure if the object of it is to remember the good times, laugh a lot, and be there for each other. We’re good.