Sarah
There is a hill at the camp that I have been attending for the past ten years. This hill is no small hill, but rather a mountain when you are eight years old and too small to know that the climb will neither be straightforward nor easy. The lodge sits perched atop this hill, baiting you to climb, if only to taste dinner. The summit of the hill offers the best views of camp, where you can survey the bunk line, the lake shining in the distance, the flagpole resting about halfway up the hill.
My first years at camp were spent trying to convince my counselor that it was completely necessary that she gave me a piggy-back ride up the hill, since my little legs were incapable of getting up there all alone. I must have been convincing, because I succeeded in gaining a ride more times than I was refused.
For the next few years, the hill offered refuge. It was a place of joy and sorrow, where the two emotions collided so often that we could barely distinguish them. The softball field, nestled near the bottom of the hill, offered the best stargazing in all of camp, where we could lie outside at night and ask the universe if our dead parents were watching us, or why they had gone. The hill was a place of joy, where we spent long hours lounging outside on towels, refusing to put on sunscreen even though our counselors insisted, and relishing the time spent together before we had to return home to the real world the next week.
Rolling down the hill always made me extremely dizzy and often ended with someone crashing into the flagpole, but was always a cure for tears. As soon as you started rolling, everything else was forgotten (except the extra cookies you ate for dessert), and you could be free and reminded of the childhood that you had been robbed of. When you reached the bottom, stumbling and giddy with laughter, you escaped for a moment the burden of your loss and your life at home.
Now, I appreciate the hill. Returning to camp last week for the tenth year in a row, I stood for a moment at the top of the hill. I could see everything in the entire camp. I paused for a moment and watched girls racing down the bunk line, screaming with laughter, while counselors straggled up the hill to beat the rush of campers to flag lowering. For the longest time, I climbed the hill everyday at camp, but with much complaining and little understanding of its strength and beauty. Many of the times that I climbed the hill I stumbled, even falling down, but someone was always there to pick me up and carry me to the top. Now, I am the one giving piggy-back rides up the hill to my younger campers, and I can appreciate the difficulty of the climb. I am a counselor in training, soon to be a counselor, and things have come full circle, which is only fitting for an organization called Circle Camps.
I have reached the summit of the hill and I am grateful for all that has happened to me, because I know that while the journey has never been easy, it has been worthwhile. After many years of being carried up the hill, I can now carry other girls up the hill. I don’t complain about climbing the hill anymore, because the climb is as much a part of me as I am a part of that beautiful camp in Maine.
I read somewhere once that “you have been assigned this mountain to show others that it can be moved.” I have moved my mountain, my small hill at camp, and now I can help other girls move their own mountains, and I am very proud of that.
My first years at camp were spent trying to convince my counselor that it was completely necessary that she gave me a piggy-back ride up the hill, since my little legs were incapable of getting up there all alone. I must have been convincing, because I succeeded in gaining a ride more times than I was refused.
For the next few years, the hill offered refuge. It was a place of joy and sorrow, where the two emotions collided so often that we could barely distinguish them. The softball field, nestled near the bottom of the hill, offered the best stargazing in all of camp, where we could lie outside at night and ask the universe if our dead parents were watching us, or why they had gone. The hill was a place of joy, where we spent long hours lounging outside on towels, refusing to put on sunscreen even though our counselors insisted, and relishing the time spent together before we had to return home to the real world the next week.
Rolling down the hill always made me extremely dizzy and often ended with someone crashing into the flagpole, but was always a cure for tears. As soon as you started rolling, everything else was forgotten (except the extra cookies you ate for dessert), and you could be free and reminded of the childhood that you had been robbed of. When you reached the bottom, stumbling and giddy with laughter, you escaped for a moment the burden of your loss and your life at home.
Now, I appreciate the hill. Returning to camp last week for the tenth year in a row, I stood for a moment at the top of the hill. I could see everything in the entire camp. I paused for a moment and watched girls racing down the bunk line, screaming with laughter, while counselors straggled up the hill to beat the rush of campers to flag lowering. For the longest time, I climbed the hill everyday at camp, but with much complaining and little understanding of its strength and beauty. Many of the times that I climbed the hill I stumbled, even falling down, but someone was always there to pick me up and carry me to the top. Now, I am the one giving piggy-back rides up the hill to my younger campers, and I can appreciate the difficulty of the climb. I am a counselor in training, soon to be a counselor, and things have come full circle, which is only fitting for an organization called Circle Camps.
I have reached the summit of the hill and I am grateful for all that has happened to me, because I know that while the journey has never been easy, it has been worthwhile. After many years of being carried up the hill, I can now carry other girls up the hill. I don’t complain about climbing the hill anymore, because the climb is as much a part of me as I am a part of that beautiful camp in Maine.
I read somewhere once that “you have been assigned this mountain to show others that it can be moved.” I have moved my mountain, my small hill at camp, and now I can help other girls move their own mountains, and I am very proud of that.
Lily
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I am not defined by the death in my family or the mistakes that we have made. I am so much more than that.
In school and at other places like it, I AM the mistakes, the death, the problems. People let it define their understanding of my sister and me. It clouds the varying opinions and feelings towards us: feelings of pity, disgust, anger or the feeling that my sister and I should not be trusted. That isn't us. Here, at Circle, our family's mistakes, the death and the problems don't define us. We are girls that simply had it a bit rough. We do NOT want your pity or negative feelings. We want you to be happy about the fact that we are making it. Be happy about the fact that we REFUSE to let negative feelings CONTROL our lives; to control our minds, to control our feelings towards ourselves. We are strong. We are proud. We are Circle girls. |
Selena
My mom died by suicide when I was two. When I was growing up, a lot of kids would talk about their moms. They asked me why I would never talk about mine. Why I never made a Mother’s Day card in class. I never talked about it because I never thought anyone else lost a mom. I thought I was alone, and I didn’t want to feel alone. But then my dad and I heard about Circle of Tapawingo. My two sisters and I went, and it was a life changing experience.
This camp is one of the best things I could have ever asked for. For once, I fit in. Everyone understands me and I’m not alone. It has helped me so much to open up more and to create many long lasting friendships.
At camp, we do lots of fun activities like archery, tubing, tennis and more. We also slow down and talk about our loved one who passed away. We tell the story of how our mom or dad died and talk about that parent. When I tell my story, I’m not embarrassed or scared because it’s the truth, and it not only happened to me, but it also happened to each of the girls at camp. When I tell my story, I’m stronger because I’m surrounded by supportive counselors and campers.
This camp is one of the best things I could have ever asked for. For once, I fit in. Everyone understands me and I’m not alone. It has helped me so much to open up more and to create many long lasting friendships.
At camp, we do lots of fun activities like archery, tubing, tennis and more. We also slow down and talk about our loved one who passed away. We tell the story of how our mom or dad died and talk about that parent. When I tell my story, I’m not embarrassed or scared because it’s the truth, and it not only happened to me, but it also happened to each of the girls at camp. When I tell my story, I’m stronger because I’m surrounded by supportive counselors and campers.
Emily
One night, I fell asleep at home and my mum fell asleep in a car accident at 1:56 AM. The only difference was that I was asleep for the night and her sleep was permanent. After the accident, I stopped everything. I cried daily and yelled at god for taking away the one person who gave me everything. She gave me music, sports and my personality. She even gave me the way she looked!
When I stepped into my fifth grade class a week after my mother passed away, I felt anything but normal. I would go to my friends’ houses and some would even apologize for having both parents in the house at the same time. My friends and family would do anything to make sure they didn’t have to talk about my mum. It didn’t seem fair and I couldn’t make anyone be the same around me anymore. I wanted what the rest of society wanted. I wanted a sense of normal back.
I remember hiding the Circle of Tapawingo flier my teacher gave me so that I wouldn’t have to go. I didn’t want the help. Sure enough, she emailed my father about it. I saw excitement in his eyes that I rarely see. I agreed to going. Not for me, but for him.
Pain, to the girls of Circle of Tapawingo and me, isn’t only a punch or a kick. It is the absence of love. Pain is when you realize that you will never see someone you love ever again. It’s losing not only your parent, but half of who you are. It’s the sight of your only living parent crying in front of you at the wake and funeral.
I’m certainly not the only one who knows this feeling. There are 140 young girls who went to camp just this year who know what it’s like. Circle is the one place we can all feel normal and safe, away from our fears of becoming orphans or the taunts we may get.
I am still not normal. In fact, I am far from normal and I don’t plan to become normal any time soon. However I am happy. At Circle, I’ve made the best friends I’ve ever had, a welcoming and accepting environment, and most importantly, I’ve found myself.
When I stepped into my fifth grade class a week after my mother passed away, I felt anything but normal. I would go to my friends’ houses and some would even apologize for having both parents in the house at the same time. My friends and family would do anything to make sure they didn’t have to talk about my mum. It didn’t seem fair and I couldn’t make anyone be the same around me anymore. I wanted what the rest of society wanted. I wanted a sense of normal back.
I remember hiding the Circle of Tapawingo flier my teacher gave me so that I wouldn’t have to go. I didn’t want the help. Sure enough, she emailed my father about it. I saw excitement in his eyes that I rarely see. I agreed to going. Not for me, but for him.
Pain, to the girls of Circle of Tapawingo and me, isn’t only a punch or a kick. It is the absence of love. Pain is when you realize that you will never see someone you love ever again. It’s losing not only your parent, but half of who you are. It’s the sight of your only living parent crying in front of you at the wake and funeral.
I’m certainly not the only one who knows this feeling. There are 140 young girls who went to camp just this year who know what it’s like. Circle is the one place we can all feel normal and safe, away from our fears of becoming orphans or the taunts we may get.
I am still not normal. In fact, I am far from normal and I don’t plan to become normal any time soon. However I am happy. At Circle, I’ve made the best friends I’ve ever had, a welcoming and accepting environment, and most importantly, I’ve found myself.
Family Testimonials
Guardian
Circle not only accepted Selena for all she was and had been through...but it actually embraced and celebrated her. At Circle, she has been “allowed” to be vulnerable, open, and expressive about the most painful experience in her life, the void of not having a mother.
Father
Circle Camps gave Emily a feeling of community. The friendships she has developed at Circle Camps have helped her realize that she is not alone. There are others who also have experienced the tragedy of a parent’s dying and the ensuing grief. Circle Camps has helped her discover that she is capable of finding happiness and going on to live a fulfilling life.
Mother
Thank you so much for maintaining the connection for my daughter and all of the girls who value and love Circle. You’re amazing people. I’m so glad I found you for my daughter.
Grandparent
Thank you to all the volunteers at Circle of Tapawingo for all the work you put into having that camp! My girls had a blast. They have been singing songs and talking about camp since they got home! They didn’t know what to expect there since they have never been, but they found a home away from home! They were also able to talk about some pretty painful stuff with kids who have been there! I feel they have grown through this experience in many ways, and this they will remember all their lives! So again, thanks so much for touching not only their lives but so many more...YOU ROCK!!!!!
Agency Testimonials
Executive Director, The Garden and Rick’s Place
Circle has been a wonderful resource for girls and their families with whom we work. Both The Garden and Rick’s Place have been referring participants to Circle for many years, and each year our participants who attend can never stop talking about how much fun they had while away at camp! It is one resource that hands-down remains at the top of our list.
Program Director, Friends Way
We consistently hear girls in our peer support groups speaking excitedly about their experiences at Circle of Tapawingo. Returning campers encourage other girls to attend and in the fall, we overhear girls sharing stories of their camp adventures. Circle of Tapawingo is a great complement to the ongoing support received in our groups and we are pleased to have such a fabulous resource to share with families.