My Camp Nabi reflections start like my other stories, with some context.

It’s July 2015. My family and I are almost two months into a “staycation” at the Johns Hopkins Pediatric Intensive Care Unit In Baltimore, Maryland. The PICU was our “city home” I sometimes told myself, since we spent so much time there. The “staff,” became our found family and were an integral part of our support network.

Other patients and their families became friends.

I recall sitting around a cramped table in an all white room off the main hallway of the unit. Even the tables were white. It was so bright–a common theme in the PICU, where the lights are on 24hrs a day. There, my husband and I sat among over a dozen pediatric specialists–some of them world renowned doctors and researchers.

We received heart shattering news; there was nothing else they could do. 

At that care team meeting, the recommendation was made for hospice. Harvey, my sweet three year old boy, was being discharged home under the care of pediatric hospice. PEDIATRIC HOSPICE. I didn’t know there was such a thing.

We were devastated.

In the bewilderment of the next few days, we met with representatives from Hospice of the Chesapeake, our local hospice serving central Maryland. We learned that they’d come to the house and help us with caring for Harvey while he journeyed towards death. They’d take as much of the burden as they could so that we could spend our remaining time WITH Harvey rather than merely taking care of him.

They gave us the gift of time.

I was in awe at the ease with which the HOC pediatric team took care of my family. They greeted us with love, compassion and understanding when we needed it most. Our experience with pediatric hospice challenged our prior beliefs of what hospice and end-of-life-care was or what it could be. I was afraid, but at ease. Sad, but comforted knowing that once again, Team Harvey had our backs.

Sadly, our journey with the pediatric hospice program was brief.

Harvey died at home on September 12, 2015. Two months after joining the hospice family, Harvey left this world for some place beyond. He had JUST turned four years old. We didn’t know at the time, but our relationship with hospice had only just begun.

The care hospice provided to us did not end at Harvey’s death.

Every month for two years our parents would watch our infant son so we could attend the “Child-Loss” support group offered by HOC. This support group was VITAL in my grief journey and paved the way for my career as a Grief Therapist.

I needed to hear from other parents like me.

It was these experiences–the care for Harvey and the grief support–that inspired me to volunteer with Hospice of the Chesapeake. I didn’t know what it would look like, but I knew that when I was ready, I wanted to do SOMETHING with hospice.

I just needed to figure out how and in what capacity.

Maybe it was my way of honoring my grief or just dumping my focus into finding a path forward, either way, I came up with a plan. In 2017 and late into my third and final pregnancy, I went back to school for a few more classes and became a Licensed Clinical Professional Counselor. Fast forward to late 2019 and I was ready to work with hospice.

Roughly four years after Harvey’s death, I was cleared as a volunteer and at my request, assigned to a pediatric hospice family.

A family just like mine.

Shortly thereafter, a global pandemic arrived and the world shut down all around us. Fast forward again to June 2023 and I contacted HOC to renew my interest in supporting their children’s programming.

Always in need of volunteers, HOC was glad to have me.

A few weeks later I found myself at Arlington Echo, Outdoor Education Center in Millersville, Maryland for my first Camp Nabi. Camp was life changing, and not just for the young grievers in attendance.

But for me, too.

And that brings me to now, nearly a year later and I’m gearing up for my second year volunteering with Camp Nabi. And just like last year, we need more volunteers. I’m not only looking forward to camp, I want to SHARE it with anyone who is willing to donate their time and healing heart to a worthy cause because…

Camp Nabi is JUST LIKE every other camp AND Camp Nabi is NOTHING like any other camp.

Both statements are true. From the time I arrived, I could sense that the weekend was going to be packed with activity–both physical and emotional. I could tell that I was in for a memorable experience. And I was right.

Camp Nabi is like other summer camps because it’s hot, the food isn’t that good and there are LOTS of squealing children. Some participants are excited to be there and some are not–and you can tell who is who. There are games, crafts and swimming…and there are bugs, bunk beds and late nights.

In other ways, Camp Nabi is UNIQUE.

For starters, all of the children in attendance have a shared experience–they are grieving the death of their special person. All of the participants are local to Maryland and ALL of the volunteers have been trained to support grieving children.

I could tell that, even though we could have used more volunteers and even though it was the first Camp Nabi to be held post-COVID, this event was something special. It was my first time so it was hard to say what about it gave me that feeling, but I just knew…

Camp Nabi was special.

I had learned from the other volunteers that the children would arrive in a range of emotional states—another similarity with “regular” overnight camps. Having worked with children and teens for over a decade, I considered myself prepared. When the children arrived…

The collective emotion was palpable.

The children were simultaneously raw and numb. The volunteers, eager and hopeful. I heard a voice in my head say, ”this is a lot. I’m exhausted already and we aren’t half done. I’m never doing this again.” As I reflected on that voice, I became curious and wanted to know more. The voice was saying things that were subjectively true (it WAS a lot and I WAS exhausted) but the sentiment of “I’m never doing this again” caught me by surprise. Afterall, I was here by choice. Volunteering with hospice was a personal and professional goal.

How could I feel this way?

With intention I refocused myself back to the present, not ignoring but also not entertaining the idea that this was “too much” (look at me using mindfulness skills, just like I tell others to do). Whilst tuning into the environment, I became increasingly aware that many of the children looked as if they were having their own internal conversations, their own sense of overwhelm. We were having parallel experiences. I then said to myself something I say to others all the time:

“If I’m having a hard time (as an adult), IMAGINE what the child is experiencing.”

Think about it: if a trained professional GRIEF therapist is bracing for the emotional wave, then what is a child supposed to do? What about the 2nd grader whose parents died in a car accident? The 10yr old whose Mom died from breast cancer? The teens whose sibling was killed on vacation after an allergic reaction? What about the siblings whose Dad struggled with a terminal illness for years? There is a 12yr old who calls himself the “man of the house” now that his Dad died from an accidental Fentnayl overdose. The child found his Father, dead.

Just imagine how THEY are doing.

Asking myself this question—”If I’m struggling, how are they doing?”—provided the perspective I needed and I was able to refocus on why I was there–to support the children. I was all in for the duration of camp. In the activities, in the 1v1 mentoring and in the healing.

The grief expert in me knew the tears the children wept would be worth it.

Bearing witness to their grief was a gut punch, but it was easier knowing that their pain would be outmatched by their healing. Their stories of self-blame were easier to correct knowing that doing so was vital for the processing of their grief.

My goal was to support the children as they navigate life without their loved one.

The Mother in me saw children of all ages welcoming each other and accepting each other unconditionally, the way that only kids can do. The human in me saw a community supporting its most vulnerable with tenderness that only healers provide.

Camp Nabi is more than just a grief camp, it is a healing oasis. And I got to be part of it.

After camp, I mentally prepared for an emotional catharsis. I made my spouse aware that I was coming home dirty, hot and emotionally raw. I told him I’d need to have a good cry, a long shower and then spend some time writing.

Having a supportive partner makes all the difference in my ability to do this work.

We’ve been together for more than 20 years and our relationship not only survived the death of our sweet Harvey–but it grew stronger. Together, it feels as if we can conquer anything thrown at us–including the deep pain of grief and the death of our child. I asked my husband to hug me while I sobbed out the emotional release.

I needed to process and reconcile my tsunami of feelings.

I blabbered out some of the thoughts I was having and he said out loud what I had heard within myself–”maybe it’s too much.” I told him how I had also had that thought come up, but that I needed to reconcile and reflect and see where I landed before making that call. Afterall, I *wanted* to be there.

I wanted to do this work.

As I cried in my bathroom, hugging my spouse, I tried to explain the source of my emotion. I had participated in a rare human experience.

I witnessed the incredible healing power of true human connection.

I tried to explain as best I could while maintaining the privacy of everyone involved. It was challenging to find words. During this catharsis I had a realization. Many of the volunteers actually attended the camp as grieving children. Now, as adults, they can look back on their life with perspective.

They say: the healing found at Camp Nabi was life changing.

So life changing, that they decided to come BACK and participate in Camp as adult volunteers. They wanted to help other lost children find hope about life after loss.

They wanted to perpetuate the ripple. I was in awe.

The emotional catharsis continued for some time and was amplifed by tapping into my senses. If you want to enhance a crying session, try starting with “Don’t give up on Me” by Andy Grammer or anything by Sarah McClaughin.

No matter the origin of my reflections, I found myself ending up in a state of awe.

Not afraid or resentful. Not sad and not angry. Over and over I found myself awestruck. I was–and continue to be–inspired by the humanity so easily shared at Camp Nabi. Witnessing the way the children held and healed each other, the trust that was rapidly established so we could share the burden of grief across the entire camp…

Awestruck.

One of the last series of thoughts I had was about my role in this life changing healing. I reflected on how I was the safe haven for two teenagers. Teens who bore their souls to me, allowing me to share the burden of grief and provide them a bit of hope for the future.

A future where the grief was a little bit lighter.

While leaning into my emotions, I read letters written to me from my Little Buddies and other campers who some how found benefit in our contact. The messages varied from polite “thank-yous” to deep, meaningful reflections. In my opinion, there isn’t anything more special than to receive a heart felt, hand-written note. To receive a dozen of them from children and teens and I was awe-inspired once again. I found the answer to the question, “is it too much?”. Considering the honor it was to be part of the life-changing healing that occured for these children–for all of us—

It was not too much. Not too much, at all.

As helping professionals often do, the team of volunteers and Hospice of the Chesapeake Staff Members pulled off an incredible event with limited resources and several volunteers short. 

Don’t think you’d make a good hospice volunteer—let alone Camp Nabi volunteer?

Volunteers I’ve met range in experience from your newly retired neighbor with several losses and no formal mental health training to mental health professionals with decades of experience. The range in ages and life experiences are vast, but we are all united by grief. There are people like me—parents navigating life after childloss.

Not sure you have something to offer?

You’d be surprised by the variety of ways people–of all kinds–can help with hospice. Some people help with set-up and transportation; some with materials prep. Last year I was a Big Buddy for two teenagers in a 1v2 mentoring role. This year, I’m facilitating healing activities for the youngest group in attendance at Camp Nabi 2024–the Littles.

There is a role for everyone.

I don’t know what future Camp Nabi’s will bring…all I know is I plan to be a part of it. It’d be really cool if you were too.

Please consider Hospice of the Chesapeake and the Chesapeake Kids Program for donations of time and money.

 LEARN MORE ABOUT VOLUNTEERING WITH HOSPICE