Camp weekend is my favorite weekend of the year.
Loss can be a lonely place. I think I liked how lonely it could be. If I wasn’t sharing it with anyone then I was the only one carrying and feeling the entire weight of my loss. I think I believed that the more I felt it, or the heavier it felt, the truer my feelings were. And I think I was afraid that if I didn’t feel the full weight of it all the time, it would mean that I didn’t miss or love my brother as much as I thought I did, or as much as I should have.
I don’t know if anyone else has thought or felt that way, but I have yet to meet someone who didn’t experience some kind of loneliness after their loss. After a loss, people feel like time has completely stopped or that their life shattered, and they don’t know how to pick up the pieces to ‘start again’ or how to be the person they used to be.
Throughout the weekend at camp, people share their stories, their love, and their pain. The way people share, listen, and support each other is transformative. This is what I love so much about the Parent/Caregiver Retreat. It’s as if I am watching people give themselves permission to start again and to be whoever they are. The weekend begins as twenty-five individuals but it ends as one group. I feel like I am watching time start again for so many. Realizing you aren’t alone is so powerful.
During camp nights, I usually look up at the sky at all the stars and marvel at not only how many I can see but also at how many I can’t see. And I remind myself that even though I can’t see all of them, I know they are out there somewhere. Just believing that always takes away a piece of the loneliness I still carry.
Not this year though. During our nighttime candle ceremony, when we sat at the lakefront, lighting candles to honor and remember the people we’ve lost, and while the kids were on the other side of the lake doing the same exact thing, there was a meteor shower right above us. There were dozens and dozens of shooting stars streaking across the sky. It was such a beautiful reminder that even though we have lost, we are never really alone.
– Jen Schwartz, Co-President, COPE
This year’s Camp Cope left me deeply moved by the power of human connection. Each time I return to the Caregiver Retreat, I am struck by how quickly bonds form between people who, just days earlier, were strangers to one another. Grief has a way of cutting through barriers, allowing individuals to meet each other with openness and honesty that is rare in other contexts.
One of the most meaningful aspects of my role is the opportunity to create a space where grievers feel heard and validated. For many participants, life outside of camp is dominated by the hustle and bustle of daily duties, where grief is often pushed aside. Camp weekend, we slowed down. We paused to acknowledge the pain that many carry in their everyday routines. I was particularly grateful that even those who carried complicated relationships with the person who died were able to find a voice in our community.
Among the many memorable moments, the candlelight ceremony stands out as one of my favorites. Light has always carried deep symbolic meaning in the context of life and death. The atmosphere was reverent as candles flickered in the dark and attendees reflected on their personal griefs. For me personally, the music that accompanied the ceremony carried lyrics that spoke directly to my own experiences.
Overall, I am grateful for the privilege of being present in these sacred spaces. It reinforces the importance of slowing down, listening deeply, and honoring each person’s unique journey through loss. Laughter, emotions, stories and snacks were shared. Camp’s memories will linger with me for many weeks to come.
– Rashida Sanchez, MA, LMSW, FT, Community Outreach & Engagement Manager, COPE
I had the profound honor of attending Camp COPE and participating in the parent retreat, where parents and guardians came together to share about the lives and losses of their children, siblings, and spouses. In those sacred conversations, parents opened their hearts—speaking of their pain, their love, and the ongoing journey of grief. Also shared was the turmoil of having to defer their own grief to care and support the children they love who are also experiencing tremendous pain in their grief.
What moved me most was the way they connected with one another, finding strength in their shared experiences. Strangers became welcomed familiar faces in a short time, and in the space of listening and being heard, healing connections began to grow. The courage it takes to sit with such deep loss, and to allow others to witness it, is immeasurable.
It was also a tremendously positive experience to witness grieving children bravely bearing their hearts amongst peers, and in just days that could be counted in hours, strong bonds were born. It is a testament that through pain and heartache, there can still be happiness and joy.
I reflect on the retreat humbled and grateful—grateful to have been trusted to be part of those moments, grateful for the reminder of the power of community, and grateful for the resilience that shines even in the midst of heartbreak. Being with these parents and guardians reaffirmed why we do this work: to hold space for grief, to honor the lives of those who have gone before us and to walk alongside them in care and support.
– MaryT Denning LCSW-R, APHSW-C, Clinical Executive Director, COPE