Camp Auburn and My Heart

My mother called me Hard Hearted Hannah when I was growing up because I never cried. Or something like that. But if tears are indeed a reflection of the substance of our hearts, then the crust of stone once covering mine must have eroded over the years leaving a pile of mush to remain.

 I sometimes think I cry more than is normal.  My emotions are felt deeply and for whatever reason they come spilling out of my eyes.  Especially where my children are involved.

Alyssa left for Camp Auburn yesterday.  A thoughtful friend--whose son was also leaving for camp--who remembered how much I had worried when Caleb went asked, "So is it easier this time around?  Are you less worried?"

"No," I said.  "I'm just as worried this time, but for completely different reasons."

Alyssa battled illness for three days prior to her departure.  She missed church on Sunday, school on Monday and was still running a fever yesterday morning.  A wiser parent probably would've kept her home.  But she was desperate to go, insisting in between coughs that she was fine.  I relented and packed a few medications to ease the discomfort I know she felt but refused to admit.  I then had to go through the hassle of calling her doctor's office to ask them to send a fax granting permission for the camp nurse to give her the medications.  Even cough drops need a doctor's approval!  The nurse was helpful and kind but clearly suspicious of my better judgement.  

"I have to tell you that she's still contagious," she said.

I did realize that.  But Alyssa told me that much of her class had been sick the previous week.  Even her teacher was sick.  I rationalized that most of the kids had already been exposed anyway.  And Alyssa is tough as nails, she won't complain.  Still, I'm worried.

Then there's the issue of her food.  That was even more work than packing her clothes.  We went through the camp menu and tried to substitute gluten-free options whenever possible.  Only two of the meals are entirely different from what the other campers will eat, the others are a pretty close match. Each meal--or select item of the meal--was carefully portioned and labeled. Then we packed it all in a cooler and delivered it to her teacher.  Two different teachers explained two different ways they would handle Alyssa's mealtime.  We were confused but I have to trust they'll figure it out.  I know they won't starve her.  Still it's hard to be different.  That makes me worry.

I crouched down--because it's only way for her arms to be able to reach around my neck--and hugged her tight.  No her-head-next-to-my-belly-button hug would do.  I didn't want to let her go.  But I had to.  It's part of growing up and that's what are kids are supposed to do.

"Good-bye parents.  We'll take good care of your kids," her teacher said as she boarded the bus behind all of the students. Lys and I waved to each other as the bus pulled out of the school parking lot. I was glad my oversized sunglasses could hide my tears.

I'm still worried.  But no news is good news so she must not be too terribly sick.  Or starving.  Still, her absence is felt.  I really miss her.  And Friday feels far away.

Another friend later said, "Well, maybe with Natalie it will be easier."

No.  I'm quite sure it won't.  Even if there is nothing to worry about, I'll still cry.  It's what I do.  No more hard heart here.