what I didn't say when I gave you a hug

Mostly it was goodbye and thank you, but the "thank you" seems so empty. How can I say it? I've learned, grown, laughed so much.

Camp does weird things to you, socially. We're a small group (too small) working crazy hard toward a common goal with a common enemy and still finding the energy for a game of after-hours ultimate. We live together, we sleep in the same quarters, we eat every meal across the table from each other, and just when you fall into a groove and figure out how things work with this group, bam! you go home and the group dissipates. Some of them you'll probably never see again. Some of them you create weirdly close friendships with and you'll stay in contact for quite some time. But you'll never get the whole group together, living and functioning with its own dynamic.

Unless you're lazy, we're all pulling for you. We've all got your back. I can go on crazy adventures (four-mile hike in lightning for a Christmas tree? getting lost in a swamp? slinking around a mental institution at twilight? shooting off fireworks? sleeping in homemade shelters? sailing?) and the whole time I know I am completely safe. Be tough, be strong, do something stupid but I got your back. If you need a boost up a tree or a hug when you fall, if your sparkplugs go bad, if you want to learn how to cook or start a fire or change your sparkplugs or juggle, if someone's inappropriately hitting on you, we got your back. I've got a whole crew fighting for me, and I'm fighting for them, too.

I love camp because I know I am safe, and once I know I am safe, I can take risks and go on adventures. I wouldn't swamp tromp with just anyone.

From Mike: "Mary, you know I feel about my girls here. If you get in their face, you're not coming back. I'll make sure the situation gets taken care of. Now come here, give me a hug and tell me how cool you are."

I learned some cool skills, like camp cooking, knife sharpening, wood splitting, spark plugging. I grew a back bone. I learned how to goof off and why it's important. I learned how to throw my whole heart into what I do. I learned that people wildly different are crazy fun and can love deeply.

I am a different person now than I was when the summer began.

I learned how to give. When you give, you can receive. When you pour out your love, you make room in your heart to receive love. Then love pours in and you overflow and hurry to pour more out, but more comes streaming in and the mad waters splash and everyone rejoices.

Last night I had a blast (that's a pun for those of you who were with us at firebowl), but morning came and I had hugs to distribute. Mostly I didn't talk, because I knew if I did I'd be a mess, and I don't like crying in front of people. Usually I can't.

"Mary, you leaving?"
No words; just a hug. Together silence.
"Hey, look, I have to go."
"No." Arms tighter.
"No, really, I have to get the toilets cleaned and pick up my paycheck."
"No."
Eye squeezing. Tears losing. Together silence.

My list of people to say goodbye to was getting shorter. I looked across the parade field and saw another friend walking toward me.

"Did I give everything back?" I asked him. I'd probably never see him again, and I wanted to make sure I returned everything of his.

He nodded. "Yes. I hope I gave something back, too."

Gave something back? We work at Camp Tapico. That's just what we do.