Echoes

(a perfect ray of light over a perfect water lily in the neighbors pond)

Camp is full of echoes this week.

By that, I mean that every little nook and corner is whispering of all the things that, just one week ago, were full of life.

Walking by windows, I hear voices of counselors and campers talking and laughing and getting ready for the day.

The beach is nothing but echoes of glee filled screams and splashes.  The sounds of the boat motors that I can pinpoint from any place on the property (even inside my house).

The pool, right now so still and serene, echoes of diving board jumps and whistle blows.

The gym, which used to be lit well into the night, is now closed up and dim.  No dodge balls banging off of walls or music playing while kids cheer.

Snack shop has no lines and only the echoes of cans opening and ice cream wrappers being torn open with reckless abandon.  There aren't hoards of people waiting there to chat and cool off.  This is especially disheartening.

I see it like a movie.  The main character is looking out over their surroundings and the empty background transforms into shapes of what they miss.  A face.  A child running in slow motion, almost transparent.  A happy group of friends waving or smiling.  That's how I picture it.


This week, every year, is always so difficult.  One would think that after 14 years I would have learned to deal with it all better.  The emptiness.  The loneliness. The quiet. The giant hole that is left in my world when every one leaves and camp is over.

I know it's really rather silly to feel so down and depressed over something that really isn't the end of the world.  But it still is hard.  It's the end of something I held dear for 10 weeks.  It's goodbyes with people I had come to love and spend time with.  When you are forced to abandon everything and everyone else that exists outside of this property, these people, these kids somehow take on a comfort zone of familiarity.  And then it's ripped away yet again.  I have to discover how to exist without them once again.  I'm allowed to go back to those friendships I've ignored and it's almost confusing.  What?!  Who am I?!  Where have I been?!  In a coma?!

These are my feelings this week.

Happy and full of life, right?

Prescription:  one week of misery and then it's time to get over it.  No one likes a Debbie Downer.

And thank you, Jesus, for the friends that are here to stay.  They are my lifeline.  I adore them.