This week, life reminded me how fragile and unfair it can be.
On Tuesday, I received word that the registrar at the middle school where I used to substitute had passed away. It was a shock. I didn’t know her well, but I remember her kindness — helping me get into classrooms, always with a calm presence. She was a beloved member of a tight-knit faculty and staff. I knew her daughter too — she was in 8th grade last year. My heart aches for her.
Then yesterday, I learned that another woman had passed away. Her name was Kim. I never got the chance to meet her, but I know her in-laws — they go to our church. Good, gracious people. I know Kim had twin daughters. They went to Camp Kesem with my girls the summer before last — a camp for children whose parents have cancer. They even shared a cabin with Julie. Kim fought hard, but cancer got the best of her.
So here we are. One girl lost her mother suddenly. Two more lost their mother to a disease that takes too much. And I’m left asking the same question I’ve asked before: Why do bad things happen to such good people?
It’s a life question. One we’ll never fully understand — at least not on this side of heaven.
But maybe part of the answer is in how we respond. In how we show up. In how we listen, pray, and offer what we can — even if it’s just a meal, a hug, or a quiet moment of presence.
I don’t have answers.
But I do believe in showing up — in small kindnesses, in shared stories, in listening when someone needs to talk. I believe in the power of presence, even when words fall short. I believe that grief doesn’t follow a script, and neither does healing.
Sometimes, all we can do is stand beside those who are hurting and say, “I see you. I’m here.” Sometimes, all we can offer is a meal, a memory, or a moment of stillness. And sometimes, that’s enough.
Life doesn’t always make sense. Loss doesn’t play fair. But love — love shows up anyway. In casseroles and camp cabins. In church pews and classroom doors. In the quiet resolve of those who keep going, even when their hearts are broken.
So I’ll keep telling stories. I’ll keep listening. I’ll keep showing up — because that’s what we do for each other, on this side of heaven.
Some stories arrive quietly. Not with fanfare, but with a simple message from someone who means it.
In my case, that message came on April 15, 2021, from a stranger named Morgan Short. I’d been scrolling through a Facebook group for people affected by head and neck cancer—a diagnosis I had received in July 2020. Recovery was ongoing. Life was trying to feel normal again. My daughters, then 8 and 5, were learning to navigate a new kind of childhood where their dad bore the signs of survival.
Morgan’s post caught my eye. She was looking for families in Georgia, Tennessee, or North Carolina—specifically those with children who had experienced a parent’s cancer diagnosis. I replied, curious but cautious. She messaged back quickly, introducing herself as a coordinator with Camp Kesem.
Camp Kesem is a nonprofit organization that supports children ages 6–18 whose parents have been diagnosed with or passed away from cancer. Through summer camps and year-round connection, Kesem creates a space for healing, laughter, and belonging. What I didn’t know then was that Camp Kesem would become a thread in the fabric of my daughters’ childhood—and of our family’s journey.
The First Doors Open
Morgan was patient with me. We already had a full June planned, and I wasn’t sure if something virtual could truly make an impact. But she followed up. She answered questions. She made the camp feel real, even through a screen. And then, as I thanked her for her kindness, she sent a final message that still resonates: “Of course! Here for you and your family from here on out.”
That was the doorway.
Our First Kesem Summer – Virtual Camp 2021
We joined the Western Carolina University chapter—made up of energetic, compassionate college student volunteers. On April 24, 2021, Camp Kesem hosted a virtual “Friends and Family” Day. Julie joined a little late after participating in the Pinewood Derby with Cub Scouts—but she made it, and it was the beginning of something special.
Our first camp experience was a fully virtual camp week in June 2021. I took time off from my then-job to be part of it. Caroline, at age 5, was too young to participate. But Julie, at age 8, jumped in fully. Despite the screens and the distance, the connection was real. Crafts, stories, silly challenges—it was all a way to say you belong here.
On July 29, 2021—the first anniversary of my cancer surgery—Julie received a Camp Kesem care package. It was filled with reminders of joy, healing, and shared strength. That day, everything felt a little lighter.
Snowman, Wings, Balloon, and Astor
One of Camp Kesem’s signature traditions is that everyone—campers and counselors alike—gets a “camp name.” It’s whimsical and sacred all at once.
Julie became Snowman. Caroline, when she joined later, chose Balloon. Morgan was known as Wings. One of Caroline’s favorite counselors, full of light and fun, was called Astor.
Names like these create a special language at camp—a space where real names can wait outside, and joy takes center stage. Watching my daughters become Snowman and Balloon meant watching them come alive in a space built just for them.
From Screens to Pines
In April 2022, Camp Kesem held its first in-person “Friends and Family” Day in Asheville, North Carolina. We were able to attend, and the transition from virtual hugs to real ones felt incredible. Hugs replaced emojis. Crafts became real. Counselors became familiar faces. It also snowed.
We learned that Julie was the very first camper registered for the Western Carolina chapter—a quiet milestone that felt like a wink from the universe.
In August 2022, the camp finally moved to a full in-person week. The girls laughed, hiked, sang, and built friendships in the North Carolina woods. Since then, Julie has attended four times. Caroline has gone three. In only a few days, they’ll return once again.
More Than A Camp—A Constant
Camp Kesem is more than a place. It’s a presence. One that has helped my daughters name their experience, connect with others who understand, and find joy in the midst of complexity.
When Morgan said she was “here for us from here on out,” it wasn’t just kindness. It was Kesem itself. The people, the programming, the traditions—they’ve shown up time and again with open arms and silly camp names.
As a cancer survivor and a parent, I can’t overstate what it means to watch my daughters laugh freely in a place designed for their hearts to heal. Camp Kesem gave us a gift—and keeps giving it.
So to Wings, to Astor, to every counselor, volunteer, and chapter—we’re grateful. Truly.
If Camp Kesem’s mission speaks to you, consider supporting their work. Your gift helps children like Snowman and Balloon find joy, healing, and connection through and beyond a parent’s cancer. Camp Kesem has had a profound impact on our family. Every donation helps create more magic for families like ours. If you decide to donate, immediately above the “Your Information” section, you will see a question: “What would you like your donation to support?” The chapter the girls are involved in is “Camp Kesem at Western Carolina.” You may also start typing “Western Carolina” and it will pull up the specific chapter. DONATE
The Quiet Middle 