When I pulled into the camp parking lot, I expected the first thing I would see to be my daughter running toward me.
Instead, I saw something that made me realize how much can change in three short weeks.
Mia came rushing across the gravel before I had even finished turning off the engine. She threw open the passenger door, climbed inside and wrapped her arms around me so tightly that for a moment I could barely breathe.
She smelled like sunscreen, lake water and camp laundry detergent. Her braid was beginning to unravel, there was a handmade bracelet around her wrist, and her face carried the kind of uncomplicated happiness I had not seen in years.
For those few seconds, everything seemed worth it.
The extra Saturdays.
The extra Sundays.
The exhaustion.
The careful budgeting.
The sacrifices required to afford the camp fee.
Mia had dreamed of attending this particular summer camp since she was ten. After losing her father, Michael, I had watched her become quieter and more cautious. Camp seemed to give her something she desperately needed: a place where she could simply be thirteen years old.
So I had worked extra hours to make it possible.
The camp fee had cost more than our monthly mortgage payment, but I convinced myself that some expenses were worth making.
Seeing Mia so happy confirmed that decision.
Then Denise, the camp director, approached us.
Her expression was serious.
She waited until Mia had finished hugging me before speaking.
“Could I talk to you for a few minutes?”
