Death Sucks

“May you lean into the love and support of friends, family, and your community at this time of transition and loss.” 

I’ve been writing this or something like it way too often these days. People I love are choosing their windows of departure; their exit ramps from life are looming large. Adoley just lost her fight with cancer of the tongue. I'm wishing it were otherwise, but that's my selfish desire to continue to be at benefit of her wisdom, courageous acts of sacrifice, compassion, and caring, and her modeling of the possible. I hate that Death takes those who have so much still to give. I hate that cancer is Death's most trusted executioner these days, I hate Cancer. Rest in peace, Adoley.

Working as volunteer counselors at Camp Ronald McDonald for Good Times, which serves kids with cancer and their families, my husband and I are used to hating cancer on a regular basis. Seeing young ones with parts of their bodies or brains carved away because of the disease, tears our hearts. At camp they get to be just KIDS. Cancer is secondary; not invited to the party as guest of honor, but accepted as annoying cling-on. Chemo cuts, missing limbs, and stroke-like symptoms from pediatric brain tumors are their new normal. Welcome to our "club." Here, you're not odd one out. You belong.

When a child has cancer, the whole family suffers. Siblings can often feel like chopped-liver. Parents necessarily turn all their attention to the sick sibling. Guilt runs family wide. Need too. Camp provides a respite from and haven for families struggling with active treatment or in the wake of what those treatments do to the child. Care and connection prevail. Compassion prevails. Most of all, FUN prevails at camp, as do appropriate challenges to meet.

Seeing kids - even in wheelchairs - up on the highest beam of the Courage Course (fifty feet in the air) is an inspiring sight. Seeing all kids solve problems, care for one another, and support the well-being of all in their cabin is heart-warming and awe-inspiring.

When, as one of the adult counselors, I accompanied WOLP expeditions (Wilderness Outdoor Leadership Program for the fifteen to nineteen year olds) into the wild to have a camp-out, I was always amazed by the generosity of spirit (and bravado and flirting) that I saw our campers shower on one another. Wearing forty pound packs, pushing wheel chairs, carrying guitar cases and other instruments in addition to their packs as we hiked over uneven terrain in the 108 degree heat, these kids would tirelessly sing and encourage one another. 

Heather, the fastest person on one leg, wore the tip off her aluminum crutch within the first thousand feet of our five mile hike. Metal on granite. She was steadfastly cheery and determined not to let anything bother her. She ran, danced, leapt over crevasses. Ka-ching, Ka-ching, we took her song of metal on stone for "granite." All of us rested a bit after the uphill climbs, and again when we arrived at the plateau before setting-up camp. It's always rewarding to look down from the top to see how far we've come.

On one particular WOLP hike, Randy, an adult counselor who lost a leg in a boating accident in his teens, leaned his titanium prosthetic leg against a tree while we all rested. A surprise thunder storm rolled in. Lightning hit the tree against which his prosthesis rested. The smell of ozone gave way to the smell of burnt rubber. The titanium became a lightning rod; the tennis shoe at the bottom of it grounded the bolt of energy right into the earth! On the spot, Randy earned the nick-name that will forever be his: "Terminator." He served as a much beloved counselor for many years.

One of the things that happens at camp is that the size of the whole camp family varies. With each new session, more families join the club no one would voluntarily sign up for. In between sessions, some kids lose their fight with the dreaded disease and are given wings and halos. As a whole, we celebrate the gains and losses - new campers arriving; older campers graduating out or becoming memories in our hearts. Each is a poignant life passage.

Death comes suddenly or slowly, but always with sadness. We respond as best we can. Like gravity, Death sucks. Both keep us in our place, mired with our feet in Mother Earth. Slime mold sucks at our toes. Celestial dreams tug our spirit crowns upward. Elongation is a good thing as we stretch in life and as we leave this plane to hop a new one.

Stardust returning to stardust.