Grief. Going. Healing.

I am an introvert through and through. I recharge by alone time. I’m not that big of a fan of large gatherings. Whether this has always been the case or not, I’m not sure. But now? Not really a fan. I have a healthy level of fear regarding things that could go wrong. I have a not so healthy level of anxiety. And sometimes, I’m like the grinch and don’t really like people or being around them.

All of that being said, I made plans, and RSVPED to an event that I knew would cause my anxiety to sky rocket. I’m talking, the week before, I was anxious. I almost had an anxiety attack driving to work one day just THINKING about the event I was supposed to attend. I spent the week leading up to the event trying to think of a legitimate reason to bail. Work? A non existent family emergency I could blame it on? Maybe I could be lucky enough to catch a cold or a virus and it would prevent me from attending. None of it happened, but I so desperately hoped it would.

You see, growing up, I went to this special camp called Camp Victory. I attended Camp Victory every summer starting in 2002 through 2011. There were a few years during that time period that I was lucky enough to go two weeks during the summer. I was even lucky enough to work there a couple of summers during college. At camp, I made lifelong friends. I learned about cross cultural workers. I prayed to receive Christ as my savior the last night of camp during my first summer there. Every summer after that, my faith continued to grow. It was there the summer going into my senior year of college the Lord called me to surrender my wants, plans, and dreams, because He was leading me elsewhere. Camp… it just has a special place in my heart.

Camp was also special, because Thomas loved it. Thomas worked a few weeks during the summer of 2002 and 2003. From 2004 until 2008 though, he spent the entire summer there. Camp let me see a different side of him. It was almost like a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde type situation- but neither of his personalities were evil.

Thomas was a legend at camp. I’m not even saying that because I’m him sister. People just loved him. There was a season where people didn’t even know my name- I was Thomas’ little sister. He was competitive in all the games. He was a master in the daily cabin cleaning where the cleanest cabin each day is named the honor cabin. He was so good and efficient at winning it with his campers, they now have an award named after him that they give to the cabin that has a perfect score. He was the funniest person in skits. ( this is my personal opinion because seeing a different version of my brother brought so much joy and laughter) Riddles? Mind games? You name it and Thomas did it.

When I was a camper, Thomas always kept a special eye on me. The first summer I was homesick. I’m talking tears every night before chapel. I wanted to go home. I wanted to at least call home. Thomas, being who he was, told me if I went home early from camp, the camp would never let me comeback. This was obviously a lie, but it served it’s purpose in keeping me at camp. I ended up putting my faith in Christ that week. My second summer at camp, Thomas took things into his own hands in terms of my cabin assignment. He put me in a specific cabin with a specific counselor because he knew her and trusted her. I found out later that week that Thomas had me placed in her cabin and told her about how my first summer went. She was intentional in checking on me and keeping an eye out for homesickness.

During the camp wide games at camp, the weeks being on a team with Thomas were my favorite. I was competitive. He was competitive. And together… we were probably on unhealthy level of competitive. I remember in one game we would play called Bedlam Ball, he would send random other campers to find me because he would need me to stop something from coming near his goal when only girls could touch the specific thing. If we played War Ball (just dodgeball) and it was staff vs campers, he would let all of the staff who didn’t know me know who I was so that they would hit me with a ball. One time in particular, Thomas was out. He was yelling at one of the girl counselors to get me. “Lydia! Hit my sister! Get her out before she gets your out!!!”. She threw the ball at a girl next to me and got her out. I returned fire and hit the counselor as she was retreating. Thomas’ snarky self yelled wrong one as she hit the other girl, and then said that’s my sister when I got her out. In the random tournaments they would have throughout the week, Thomas would cheer me on when I would place in one. If I lost a tournament, he would give me a jokingly disappointed headshake to let me know to do better next time.

My first summer as a counselor at camp, Thomas gave me a pep talk the week before I left. He told me which fulltime staff members were his favorites and which ones he was close to and because of that, I needed to make sure they also liked me. He told me the secret to being successful in honor cabin. If there were 8 weeks of camp, Thomas would win 4 out of those 8. He expected the same from me. I unfortunately wouldn’t touch his record. The best I could do was 3 weeks out of 9.

When Thomas died, I swore I would never go back to camp. I would send money yearly in his name, but I wouldn’t step foot back on that property. It would be too painful? Too hard? Just another thing and place to remind me of what life used to be like and how it is so drastically different now.

Camp Victory was the place holding the event I so desperately wanted to bail on. I’m thankful for friends who knew of my anxiety and why it would be hard, but still encouraged me to go. When I arrived at camp, I had so much anxiety, I thought I would be sick. I parked my car and proceeded to give myself a pep talk to get out of my car and proceed to the event. My heart was racing as I walked into the dining hall where the event was held.

I knew there would be people there that I hadn’t seen since Thomas died or since before he died. I would see his friends. I would see people who loved him. I would be at his special place. A place he will never be at again. I wasn’t sure that I was ready to be at there or see those people. I held my tears and emotions in place until I saw Thomas’ camp best friend, Rega. Against my better judgement, I went and said hi. I’m not sure what caused it, but saying hi to him and giving him a side hug caused the tears to start. The last time I saw Rega was at Thomas’ funeral. He was a pallbearer and shared stories about Thomas’ during the service. I eventually was able to regroup and make it through the event.

When the event was over, people were socializing and saying their goodbyes. Someone who knew my brother but I had never spoken to, told me condolences for the loss of Thomas. He told me that Thomas was so nice and kind to him and that he would on occasion still get emotional thinking about Thomas. That opened the floodgate of tears. I would get it together long enough for another person to come up and say something only for the tears to start again. People let me know my tears were justified and okay. The tears were understandable. Thomas’ friends would tell me that when they were at camp, they could almost feel his spirit there. They let me know that they also miss him, sometimes they are brought to tears when thinking of him, and that Thomas was a camp legend. I would never know how many lives he touched or how many people missed him.

By the time I got home, my eyes were swollen and I had a headache. The next morning, my eyes were a nice shade of red and were still swollen. Going to camp was hard. It was honestly harder than moving across the world for a year. Being at camp brought up all of these emotions related to grief that I’ve tried to stop feeling. Even though it was hard and emotional, I’m glad I’m went. I’m glad the anxiety didn’t win the mental battle of should I go or not. It was good for my heart and my grief to see his friends…to be at his favorite place. It was nice to be reminded of how loved he was by people outside of the family.

Sometimes grief and depression and anxiety make it hard to do things. Sometimes they win the mental battle and you don’t do the hard things. But let me tell you, when you can push through and do the hard things, it is so worth it. If you find yourself struggling to do the hard things to remember your loved ones, do them. My trip to camp provided healing and even some closure that I didn’t realize I needed. Will I ever go back to camp again? Only time will tell, but Camp Victory is a place where memories are made and lives are changed. For me, and so many others, it’s also now a place where my brother’s spirit and memory lives on.

• How Could I Forget?
• Challenge
• Homesickness Used for Good.
• Saying Goodbye to 2025.
• Thankful 32