Camp Kesem: A Mom’s Perspective

Two years ago, I received an email saying Camp Kesem needed a registered nurse in order to have camp.

I thought about it for maybe a second…

…and then I volunteered.

After all, I was a nurse.

Maybe I could help.

I completed the training, the interviews, and the background checks. Before I knew it, I had been accepted as the camp nurse.

But before I left, I had to sit down with my own children and have one of the hardest conversations we’ve ever had.

I told them that while I will always be their mom and love them fearlessly, when we are at camp, I also have to be the nurse for every child there.

We didn’t know what each camper’s story would be.

We didn’t know what losses they had experienced.

And we wanted to be mindful of every child’s journey.

Because the heartbreaking reality of cancer…

…is that not every story has the ending we pray for.

So I packed my bags, not really knowing what to expect.

I thought I was going to camp to serve.

I had no idea I was about to be changed.

What I found there…

…was nothing short of magical.

Camp Kesem isn’t just another summer camp.

It’s a place where kids can simply be kids.

In their everyday lives, many of them are known by something they never chose…

“The kid whose mom has cancer.”

“The kid whose dad died from cancer.”

“The kid whose family is falling apart because of cancer.”

But for one incredible week…

they aren’t any of those things.

They’re just kids.

They’re laughing.

They’re singing.

They’re making crafts.

They’re performing ridiculous skits.

They’re making friendships that will last long after camp is over.

And for a little while…

cancer doesn’t get to define them.

One of the very first traditions at camp is also one of the campers’ favorites.

Everyone chooses a camp name.

It’s amazing how quickly those names become part of who you are that week.

Some choose names from movies or pop culture.

Some choose names that make everyone laugh.

Some choose names that simply make them smile.

Mine is Sunnie.

Because I’ve always tried to find the bright side…

even when life feels impossibly hard.

And before long…

no one calls you by anything else.

Every day is filled with songs…

crafts…

activities…

and the kind of laughter that leaves your stomach hurting.

The beauty of camp is that even after the hardest conversations…

they’re still kids.

And nowhere is that more obvious than during Messy Games.

Paint flies everywhere.

Everyone ends up covered from head to toe.

Counselors become targets.

For just a little while…

cancer doesn’t get to be the center of anyone’s world.

They’re simply children.

Exactly as they should be.

Then every evening, before anyone heads back to their cabins…

something beautiful happens.

The entire camp gathers together.

Arms around one another.

And we sing Lean on Me.

I’ve heard that song countless times throughout my life.

But I don’t think I truly understood it…

until I stood in that circle.

Surrounded by campers.

Counselors.

In that moment…

you realize no one there is carrying their burden alone.

Closing Circle reminds everyone they belong.

Then Cabin Chat gives them a place to speak.

Each cabin gathers together to talk about the day…

to laugh…

to cry…

and, if they’re ready…

to share how cancer has touched their family.

And then comes Empowerment.

The one time all week when camp intentionally pauses to remember why we’re all there.

It’s a time for honesty.

For encouragement.

For reflection.

For tears.

For hope.

For healing.

The campers discover something that quietly changes everything.

They are not alone.

Being invited into that Circle of Trust…

and hearing those stories…

is one of the greatest honors of my life.

When camp ends…

the kids don’t just leave with memories.

They leave with lifelong friends.

Friends who understand without needing an explanation.

Friends who will answer the phone years later.

Friends who truly get it.

And that’s what makes Kesem so extraordinary.

It’s never been just one magical week.

Through incredible chapters like the one at James Madison University, these children continue receiving love and support throughout the entire year.

Our family has been blessed beyond words by that community.

I’ve watched Camp Kesem change my children.

But somewhere between caring for these campers…

I found myself healing too.

Because cancer didn’t begin with Camp Kesem.

It has always been part of my story.

My mom died when I was eight years old.

My dad was diagnosed when I was a freshman in college.

Over the years, he’s battled several different types of cancer.

And today…

by God’s grace…

he’s still here at 81 years old.

So here I am.

A 42-year-old mom.

A wife.

A nurse.

A daughter.

A cancer warrior.

Someone whose own life has been shaped by cancer.

And somehow…

God has given me the privilege of serving these incredible children.

People often ask me why I keep going back to Camp Kesem.

The answer is simple.

Because every child deserves one place where they don’t have to explain their story.

Where they’re understood.

Where they’re celebrated.

Where they can laugh without guilt.

Cry without judgment.

And hope without fear.

Camp Kesem reminds children that cancer may always be part of their story…

but it never gets to write the ending.

Two years ago…

I volunteered because I thought,

“Maybe I could help.”

I never imagined those children would end up helping me.

They reminded me that joy and grief can exist together.

That hope can survive heartbreak.

That no child should ever have to walk this journey alone.

And that sometimes…

the people we think we’re serving…

become the very people who heal us.