How is it that on the eve of collecting my daughters from camp I am all choked up, my eyes brimming with tears? Most adults must think I am a severely damaged specimen of a parent. Is it because I am closely linked to my children's spirits and feel their pressing sadness as they pack their trunks and hug their closest friends? Or is it perhaps because my soul is tightly linked to that place and time where I most painfully felt the irreversibility of time passing? Each year as camp concluded an annual ache would return that felt like I was peeling a layer of myself to leave behind in a treasured moment at summer camp. A piece of me left behind to rediscover many years in the future as my children tripped over the same rocks, dove off the same dock, sailed in the same boats, sang in the same dining hall.
My heart aches as I imagine my daughters watching the end of camp slide show, laughing and crying over all their golden moments. Then tomorrow, the
painful departure. My youngest prefers to pull bandages off quickly, to say her goodbyes, move on and deal with the tumult of the transition in her own space. My older daughter needs each goodbye and holds onto each hug as if she can personally stop the second hand from ticking forward by embracing her friends more tightly. Each has found her own way to say farewell.
And I can only look on, keeping the tears from my eyes as my heart aches, watching them each shedding a layer of their childhoods that perhaps they too may rediscover many years from now.
5 comments :
really captures the emotions. Thank you
I didn't even try reading it after the first line! too emotional:-)
Hard to type, eyes filled with tears :(
Something to think about - what was it about camp that you were/are so drawn to - is it possible to re-create a little of that in every day life? In other words - is it about stepping out of some of the ridiculousness that our society imposes on us, and letting life be a little simpler?
Great photo - especially like the pair of bare feet at the end.
Wow. I have come to terms with the long and short goodbyes, the clinging vestiges of unshed tears, and the somewhat empty promises of letters to be written. Now as I have advanced in camp maturity I have found that we actually do stay in touch and the end of camp sadness has diminished, its nice.
Personally I think it's a combination of camp maturity and the budding of adolescence. Over many years watching good-byes the tears begin around 12 or 13, peak at 15 and are all but gone by 17, to be replace by a solid lump in the throat which catches at the oddest moments. Certainly the scene I witnessed on Thursday was a far cry from 30 years ago when hands appeared out of bus windows clinging desperately to the fingers stretched up from tear-streaked faces as running feet worked to keep up with the bus slowly heading out. I think it's a good balance being able to shed your tears among friends and feeling accepted to unleash your emotions as well as finding a place so accepting of you that it is difficult to leave. Although a smile and a handshake are certainly an alternative to consider.
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