Sad news

When I was in university I spent my summers taking children with disabilities to camp. I was an outreach worker and my job was integrate my "clients" into regular camping programs. Every week I worked with a different child. Sometimes I accompanied them to day camp, other time to overnight camp. I did this for three summers in a row and, in that time, met some very remarkable kids. Being an outreach worker was incredibly rewarding at times. I watched children get on a horse, paddle a canoe and sleep in a tent for the first time. For many of these kids, I was sharing in the best week of their entire year.

The job was also very stressful at times, particularly when working with children with more severe disabilities. My most difficult child was a boy with ADHD. He locked me in a closet in an empty building and then ran away laughing, leaving me alone in the dark. I should really get some therapy for this --- I still have nightmares.

The job was physically challenging. I did a lot of lifting and transferring and pushing wheelchairs over rugged terrain. I didn't mind the physical part. It was the emotionally challenging part that I couldn't deal with. The part I still can't deal with.

People often ask me why I didn't choose working with people with disabilities as a career path. For one, the pay sucks. But the really big reason is that I can't handle the tragedy. At least 3 or 4 kids I've worked with directly or indirectly have died. And those are just the ones I know about.

I took a teenaged girl to camp two years in a row (she had a rare disease that she picked up while living in India). The first year she could easily walk by just holding my hand. The second year, she appeared to have advanced Parkinson's Disease and required a person on each side to help her walk. Although I lost touch with her (she was in foster care) I can only imagine she is no longer alive today judging from the rapid progression of the disease. All she wanted was to be a normal teenager! It was so heartbreaking to watch.

And then there are the children with cystic fibrosis who all die young. And the ones who have succumbed to other illnesses.

Today I found out about the tragic death of my favourite little camper of all time. His name was Rodmond and I first took him to camp when he was 6 years old. This child was the most energetic, outgoing and enthusiastic kid I've ever met. He had Spina Bifida and was paralyzed from the waist down. Technically he was "disabled" but you would never know it if you spent five minutes with him. This child integrated himself into the camp program with very little help from me. Within hours of arriving at the camp, he was the most popular kid around. We couldn't go anywhere without him high-fiving councillors, or him calling out "What's up dude?" or "I'll catch you later okay?" to passersby.

Rodmond couldn't swim but he was too proud to admit it. He flailed himself across the deep end of the swimming pool. When I could see him struggling I'd reach out to grab him and he'd get so mad. "No,no, no" he'd tell me. "I can do it myself." I remember throwing him a flutter board and saying, "Hey, let's pretend we're sharks." This allowed him to save face in front of his peers while "swimming" to safety.

Rodmond had the most incredible family. His mom was an absolute inspiration. Talk about a mother who would not for one moment let her son feel sorry for himself. Rodmond was like every other kid and that was that.

On the last day of camp that first year, Rodmond cried his eyes out. He was so afraid we'd never see each other again. That night his mom called me at home and asked me to be his respite worker. I gladly accepted the job, which allowed me to visit him occasionally throughout the year.

The next year we went to camp again for two weeks. I couldn't believe I was being paid to work with him, he was such a joy. He made me smile and laugh all day long.

I think you know where this story is going... Rodmond died on June 24th but I only just found out today when my mom told me about an article in the paper. It was a story about how the health care system failed Rodmond. His parents took him to Las Vegas for his 21st birthday. On the way home they missed their connecting flight in Denver. While at the airport he became very ill and had to be hospitalized. His condition improved slightly but, due to a bureaucratic nightmare, missed his opportunity to be flown home. A few weeks later he died of an infection in Denver, with only his mother by his side. His dying wish was to go home, but his wish was never granted.

I read his obituary and didn't make it past the first two lines before I was in tears. Even with all of the health issues he faced, he had an incredibly life. Reading about what he had accomplished made me so proud. It may have been a short life but it was a life well lived.

I'll miss you forever Rodmond. You are always in my heart.