Summer Camp

Sometimes in the dead of night Paul and I can have a little visitor. Max has been known to silently linger by the bed. Initially such visits were alarming, now we are used to them, gently guiding him back to bed with a kiss. A similar visit occurred last night, only Max appeared in my dreams not by my bedside. I woke full of anxiety, and, in what seems to be a normal state of affairs these days, was propped up in bed at 3am sipping a mug of tea. I couldn’t get back to sleep because this week, Max is at a residential summer camp. A new, challenging experience for all of us, he’s been on a mini taster weekend with IPOP, but never a whole seven days!
The camp, Activenture is run with special needs in mind and comes highly recommended. We dropped Max off on Sunday, suitcase brimming with all the essentials and more. We were greeted with warmth and enthusiasm; young vibrant people were buzzing everywhere – full of fun, which is what Max is all about.
The large rambling house is set in deep beautiful countryside and is crammed with well worn corridors and busy communal rooms. The atmosphere was calm and positive and a relaxed, lived-in feel extended from the walls, helping to reassure us. Even so, Max was naturally nervous and buried his head into Paul’s chest looking for a hug and familiarity. Just a momentary blip for him because, out of all of us, Max had the desire to enjoy this opportunity and grasp all it had to offer.

We were shown his room which he was to share with his mate Raffy (a nifty bit of co-ordination between me and Raffy’s mum Christa) and Ben their designated care worker. Ben instantly reminded me of my eighteen year old nephew Fraser, thoughtful, kind and calm, so my nerves were momentarily soothed and we all started to feel a bit more positive.
Mark, the Team Leader escorted us to meet ‘The Boss’ Di Churchill, who immediately struck me as an individual following a vocation rather than a money making exercise. This I found impressive and reassuring.

Our goodbyes were all that remained and Max’s was swift.
‘OK, bye then.’
A quick kiss and that was it.

Paul, Charlie and I stood in the car park the rain lashing down in sheets staring at one another like lost puppies.
‘What time can we pick him up?’ said Paul.
We felt so lost it was frankly ridiculous, and we fretted about our concerns for Ben, spending the whole week with our son and his friend with no chance of a night off. Tough, as we knew only too well. But we took solace in a pot of tea and a homemade cake at a local teashop in nearby Amersham. Then we went to the pub.

Paul was in a dreadful pickle for most of the week and even Charlie confessed to being worried and missing Max. I knew that he had every chance of having a great time and I felt confident he was in safe hands. But only time would tell and I worried about the long duration. Max is terribly vulnerable, he would struggle to fathom how long a week was, and therefore how long it was until he came home. He may have identical thought processes to you and I, but he finds assimilating such thoughts into speech a real challenge. So by Wednesday, even though we had had a message to say he’d settled in well, I couldn’t contain myself and called Di on her mobile.
‘Oh, Hi Di!' It’s Sandy Lewis here, Max Lewis’s mum, sorry to bother you.’
‘No problem Sandy.’
‘I just wanted to know how Max was doing?’
‘Brilliant, just brilliant.’
‘Oh good! Give him a kiss from us!’
The call got disconnected, but I’d heard all I needed. Something inside me let go and I felt enormously tired. I went and put the kettle on, letting out a sigh, embracing the remainder of this week’s much needed respite as properly intended. And I let Max get on with thoroughly enjoying himself.