The summer before my senior year of high school, my perspective on life changed forever. Up until that point in my life, I had taken much for granted -- most importantly, how lucky I was to be in good health. I was your typical selfish teenager who could not see beyond my own struggles. While I am not belittling the negative experiences I've gone through personally, that summer I came to terms with how incredibly blessed I was in other aspects of my life. That summer was the summer I learned what it was like to not simply know of someone who has been touched by a terminal illness, but to truly know someone with a terminal illness.
My grandfather died of cancer when I was only seven-years-old. At the time, I did not comprehend what was going on. It never really hit me that my dad was losing his own dad, that my grandmother was losing her husband, and that I was losing my grandfather -- forever. Up until the summer of 2012, I truly had not come face to face with cancer, knowingly at least.
During the month of July that year, I ventured to Lake Sebago in Casco, Maine with my religion teacher and group of my classmates to volunteer at this magical place called Camp Sunshine. Camp Sunshine is a program which offers year-long rotating weekly-retreats for terminally-ill children and their families. It is unique in the sense that it focuses not only on the child with a life-threatening illness, but the siblings, parents, grandparents, etc. who have consequently been affected by that child's struggle with their health.
On the car ride there, none of us really knew what we were getting ourselves into. To us, we were simply volunteering to play with a bunch of kids for a week who also happened to be ill. The complexity and severity of their struggles had not hit us.
That week, I met so many precious little kiddos, the majority of whom did not look sick in the least. They were so full of life, constantly happy and eager to become your best friend. As the week progressed, though, I began to learn so much more about how much these kids' illnesses were affecting them and their families.
One parent told me their daughter had come to this camp before on the same week, but a year earlier. She showed me a picture of her from that year past, and the difference between that little girl in the photograph and the little girl swinging on the monkey bars was, for lack of a better word, disturbing. It shocked me, honestly. I could not fathom this little ball of energy looking so frail, helpless, and at the same time so old. That was the thing: these small, tiny little humans who were starting to finally get their lives back from cancer were not children in a sense. They had gone through things I could never fathom, and in turn had grown up all too quickly. It became normal for me to hear young children -- three year olds, even -- use words like "radiation," "chemotherapy," "leukemia" and "remission."
What also dawned on me was how strong their relationships with their siblings were. It made me feel guilty for how badly my sister and I had fought in the past. Here were these kids who were just like me and my younger sibling in terms of age difference, hobbies, and interests -- and yet they were far more mature than I had ever been. They were so polite to one another, so courteous. They had learned how to do something I still hadn't learned to do with seventeen years behind me.
Speaking of the siblings, they had a different kind of struggle than their sick brother or sister. At first, I was prepared to give my undivided attention solely to the terminally ill kids. It never occurred to me that it would be their perfectly healthy siblings who would need my love and friendship a bit more that week. These healthy kids had watched their brothers and sisters become attacked by a vicious disease. In a sense, they were as traumatized by such an ordeal as if they themselves had been diagnosed with cancer. On top of that, they had watched their siblings be put in the spotlight all this time, stepping back whether voluntarily or involuntarily so that their parents could give their attention where it was needed. I had a newfound respect for the siblings, cousins, and friends of those with life-threatening illnesses. The sacrifices they had made were heroic.
I also was allowed to take a glimpse at the impact cancer had had on the mothers and fathers of these kids, not just as parents, but as a couple and as people in general. You always hear that phrase that "parents are people too" but I never really witnessed that personally until I watched the parents of these children. It struck me, and made me wonder how I would feel if my future child was diagnosed with cancer. I felt for them on a different level than that of the children. They, too, were heroes in their own way. I made it a point to also check in with them throughout the week, and give them a break from being "cancer moms and dads" so they could just be a husband and wife, if only for a short week.
Ever since, I have returned to Camp Sunshine as a volunteer twice more. This summer, I will be returning for my fourth time, and I cannot wait. I find that I learn something new each year. Each week that I go is significant in the lessons I am taught, and the people I connect with.
Childhood cancer is an entirely different realm than any other cancer. In a way, it is more evil. After all, how could God do this to such innocent little boys and girls? I have an unpopular statement to make about childhood cancer: "Thank you, and so long." Thank you, cancer, for introducing me to some of the most brilliant tiny humans I have ever had the privilege to meet (shout out to Josh, Gwennie, Mackenzie, KJ, and Alex), their impressively strong siblings (that's you Charlie, Justin, Amy, Jessica, Donovan, Marleigh, Gigi, and Liv), and their compassionate parents (you know who you guys are). And, cancer? So long. You've had your role in letting me get to know some beautiful people, and you're no longer needed.
This weekend was Relay for Life at my college, an annual event that is meant to raise money to donate towards the American Cancer Society, supporting them financially in their fight to find a cure. I relay not simply to find a cure, but to find more sunny days for everyone who has been affected by cancer and any other life threatening illness.
