The first child arrived early, tentatively peeking into the room where all the adults waited. “Will other kids come, too?” he asked.

Thus started camp send-off, the first step of a weekend camp for children who had lost a loved one.

Rather than ask parents and guardians to deliver their kids to the actual campground, we met them in a central location to check-in their bags and for buses to transport them. Goodbyes are easier that way.

“Lots of other kids,” I reassured him. “But you’re first, so you can get snacks and a tattoo whenever you’re ready.” Soon, about 90 other kids crowded the room. And surprise! (Not really.) Most wanted temporary tattoos. My job was to apply them.

With each child and teen, I had a minute or two to gently touch their arms, to hear their fears or excitement, to assure them they would make friends at camp. I witnessed their interactions with siblings or a parent. Sometimes they chose a tattoo to match mom’s real one. Or maybe to honor dad, who was gone.

The group of 4 siblings who had lost 3 family members over the past year touched me with their good manners and obvious love for one another. A teen sister held her younger brother’s hand when he said he was afraid to be separated from her. I held it all, sending positive vibes into the space surrounding these hurting children.

And then they were gone, the buses carrying them to a camp for a journey of fun, sharing stories, making friends who were also grieving, discovering they’re not alone. Many rode a horse or jumped into a lake for the first time. They made memory boxes and wrote letters to their loved ones. The counselors and volunteers who work directly with the children do amazing and heartfelt things to help these children grieve and grow.

At sunset, they gathered around a campfire. A leader talked gently about laying down the burdens of anger, sadness, and guilt. The children tossed their letters into a nest, then watched the flames carry the nest and their words into the night sky as stars emerged. Tears poured out. Siblings and new friends embraced. Counselors passed out tissues and more hugs.

A drummer stepped forward, tapping a gentle rhythm on his bongo drum. He invited everyone to pick up a drum or tambourine from those he had brought. As the entire group began to match his rhythms, the mood lightened, eventually transforming it from sadness to joy. The children beat the drums with a growing lightness until they danced together around the campfire.

Every year, I think I will be immune to this ritual that I have seen for several years. I was wrong.

Once again, it was an amazing transformation that touched all who were there. I felt a deep privilege and gratitude for sharing these moments. Grace to all as they take the next steps.