Camp is over. Four short days. Just as we were all getting used to living together, eating, studying, playing, and sleeping all together, we had to go home. This year’s camp was the largest we’ve had so far: 107 people. Everybody from church (with the exception of one family of 3) attended the camp. Every morning, we spent 3 hours studying the book of Malachi. All the adults and children studied together. In the afternoons, various groups went hiking, played in the river, played soccer or ping-pong, fake sword fighting, practiced singing, took walks, or took naps. Then every evening, we had 3 hours of discussion about church matters. After that, many would stay up till all hours of the night, some till the morning, drinking beer or wine and talking together. Church camp is one of the things we all look forward to most every year. And like every year before this, our time of fellowship and learning this year was greatly blessed.

The day we arrived at camp, one of the families announced they were expecting their third baby next year. The mother had had very difficult pregnancies before this and had some morning sickness, and the father had to leave on a business trip, so I spent a lot of time with their inestimably cute, rambunctious, and utterly fearless 2-year-old daughter, Mina. Nearly all my time at camp was spent with little kids and now I’m suffering from severe withdrawal.

When Papa checked his e-mail when we arrived home from camp, Monday night, he had a message telling him Gramma had died on Friday morning. She had had a pulmonary embolism, a blood clot in her lung. According to the doctors, it’s a peaceful and painless way to go. It doesn’t sound like it, but I hope they’re right.

I’m so sad because I wish I could be more sad. I can’t stop crying, but it’s not because I miss her. It’s because I wish I could have missed her. It’s because I wish I could have known her, spent time with her. But more than anything, it’s because it hurts to see Papa. He doesn’t show it much, but I can see it in his eyes. He suddenly looks years older than he did just a few days ago. It scares me. He’s now lost both his parents.

I never got to know Gramma too well. But I do know what kind of woman she was from the times I remember spending with her, and from what my parents have told me of her. The first thing that comes to mind when I think of Gramma is that she was fiercely independent. She was extremely honest and fair; very hardworking and determined. Once she set her mind to something, she would get it done. She always worked very quickly and efficiently. She was very punctual. She always had a book, always reading. Besides all the medical books (she was a nurse and Grandpa Smith was a doctor), there were a lot of heavy, serious books all over the house. I have her copy of Shakespeare’s Complete Works with her handwritten notes all over it. I love reading her notes as I studied the same plays in school. She was incredibly generous with her time and money and was involved with charities at her church. She loved her husband, children, and grandchildren more than anything. She remembered everyone’s birthdays and anniversaries, the entire extended family on both sides and would send out cards and presents to everyone. She was not easily scared. I remember sometimes she would get irritated, but not for too long. I wish I got to know her better. I wish I could have spent more time with her. I don’t have too many memories of her, but the ones I do have I cherish.