Almost two years after my brother died in 2006, I moved back home to my mom's horse farm. I started carrying a pocket camera while working about the property, snapping pics of flowers, bugs and leaves, through all four seasons of the next decade.
​
While watching TV in 2014, I stumbled across the HBO Documentary, 'One Last Hug' featuring Camp Erin. About five seconds later, I was in tears. Thirty minutes after that, I was online researching this magical place. This is how I first learned of The Wendt Center for Loss and Healing in Washington, DC.
​
In early Spring 2015, after completing a lengthy application and enduring a lot of anticipation, I was selected as a volunteer for Camp Forget-Me-Not! I was dreadfully out of my comfort zone but so drawn with excitement!
I had been paired with a 10 year old girl who lost her brother. However, the mother of this child couldn't bare to be away from her daughter so she never got on the Camp bus. This resulted in me floating between groups and helping where I could, which was great because it enabled me to witness more of everything!
During our first overnight, an alert sounded across each phone. I thought it was a tornado warning because of the heavy rain we were having.
It was actually an Amber alert for three children taken by their father (found safe and unrelated to our campers). However, it's relative to me because I grew up next door to three children that were all murdered by their father, which is why this Camp is so important to me.
​
I learned later that my father had died at the same moment of that alert: Saturday morning, around 4am. The last communication I had with him was Father's Day the year prior, when I told him I was no longer interested in our obligatory relationship.
​
Tuesday morning after Camp, I sentimentally downloaded the single "See You Again" by Wiz Khalifa & Charlie Puth. I had heard it on the radio just prior to camp, and then at camp, during our last lunch while watching the camp slideshow.
​
Right after I played the song at home, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. The message addressed me by name, telling me to call back so 'we can do this over the phone'. When I returned the call, I reached a funeral home. The representative assumed I had been informed already. Needless to say, she was quite mortified and incredibly apologetic.
​
From there, I was in touch with my father's landlord. She informed me Officer Hawk was the First Responder and he should've called me. (Odd name, because my mother and I believe my brother presents himself as a hawk since it began to appear on our property soon after his death.)
I told the landlord this and she said two hawks (a juvenile and adult) just flew into the tree next to her office. She sent me pics and I never felt more guided or capable.
​
After I cleaned out his apartment and was making the drive home, the landlady sent a text telling me the hawks had left. I joked there would be two when I got home. Sure enough, the next morning at my mom's house, there was one on the gate and one on the fence. I say it's divine!
​
Anyway, I've returned to camp each year since then and help out at their main office as often as I am able. I can't describe the ambiance they resonate from their sensational healing and true compassion. I've never experienced greater intent or purpose.
​
In 2017, I created an assortment of greeting cards for my mother using the pics I've taken while on her farm. Then I felt strangely driven to put together a photo book for the Wendt Center reception area. As I did this, I recalled all of the pointed messages I'd learned at Camp; simple and elementary but solemn and subdue, while firmly offering delicate statements.
I didn't anticipate such a response to the book and have since received many wonderful compliments and requests to purchase!
With all that said, in order to participate at Camp, all of the volunteers have a fundraising minimum which enables the camp to be free for the kids. This is the reason and purpose of this site.
​THANK YOU!!!
All proceeds benefit grief programs for children.
​
