scattered flowers on the ground
a temporary grave marker
No comments on a few days after the funeral
Author: guinever
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I see the weariness on my face at the death of my son mixed with the joy of being reunited with another son.
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Aleksandr Arthur Van Campen, 24, born on April 10, 1999, died on Nov. 19, 2023, leaving family and friends saddened that his life ended so abruptly. Visitation with the family will be 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. Friday, Nov. 24, at Tates Creek Presbyterian Church, 3900 Rapid Run Drive, Lexington, Ky. Memorial services will be at 3 p.m. at the church. There will be a private viewing and graveside gathering for the family. Burial will be in Lexington Cemetery.
In lieu of flowers, please consider donating to Assurance Care in Lexington where Alex had occasionally volunteered and where his mother currently works.
The eldest of five children, Alex is survived by his parents, Todd and Guinever Van Campen; siblings Caleb Daniel, Mary Suzannah, and Thomas Jonathan Jackson Van Campen; future brother-in-law Jeremiah Weyel; best friend Caleb Burgin; maternal grandfather Daniel Lance Herrick; paternal grandparents Arthur Frank and Luana Mae Van Campen; and numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins. He was preceded in death by his beloved sister Abigail Helene, affectionately called Abby; his maternal grandmother, Donna Lee Herrick; and all of his great-grandparents.
Noticing that Alex could retain surprising amounts of information at a very young age, his mother set him to memorizing the Ten Commandments – not just the bullet points printed on posters, but the entire chapter of Exodus 20 in the King James Version. While visiting with his Great Grandma Herrick, Alex launched into a recitation of the chapter that went on, and on, and on. He stood eye to eye with her as she sat in her wheelchair squirming and trying to interrupt. Like a seasoned preacher who can deliver a sermon while ignoring inattention, Alex was undeterred.
Once he learned to read, Alex traded Legos and playing with his siblings for the adventures found in books such as Farmer Boy, Ralph S. Mouse, Narnia, Redwall, and Freddy the Pig. Weekly trips to the library always took him to books about animals. He quickly became a talking encyclopedia on the habits and habitats of lizards and mammals. He enjoyed his pet gecko Stripe for several years.
Alex participated in a first-grade spelling bee, complete with stage and mic, at the library. His parents were taken aback when he won his age group that day effortlessly and with poise. He went on to win bees each year and advance to the Fayette County bee. In 5th grade, he missed his first word, not because he didn’t know it, but because of the self-awareness and stage fright that can come with adolescence. He never wanted to participate again. Also he no longer hoped to compete on the TV show Jeopardy during teen week, which he had set his sights on to do once he was old enough.
In 7th grade, he was a Duke Tip Scholar. In 8th grade, he presented “How to Prevent Brain Freeze” as his science project. He had slapped together a hand-written presentation board that was crumbling and askew. The judges approached our family afterward because they found Alex’s topic unique, interesting, and well-researched, and they were impressed by his ability to easily and eloquently answer questions. He didn’t place in his category that day because of the way his board looked. The judges wanted to grant him a wild card spot at the countywide fair if he agreed to redo his board. After following the judges’ advice, he advanced through two more levels of the science fair competition.
He loved soccer and played on the Bluegrass United homeschool team. He was not gifted in athletics, but what he lacked in ability he made up for in passion for the sport, watching Newcastle United and University of Kentucky men’s soccer games with his father at every opportunity.
In high school, where he attended a Classical Conversations community, he loved debate, and he was good at it. He embraced the research and crafting of arguments involved in playing the role of lawyer during mock trial. The judge at Alex’s high school debates encouraged him toward a career in law. Alex pursued the idea until he realized how much schooling was required. At this point, his parents told him how bright he was and that he could do whatever he wanted to do, if he applied himself. What had been intended as encouragement and motivation unfortunately had the opposite effect. Alex admitted years later that one of the reasons he didn’t go to college was because he was afraid of failure and disappointing us.
After graduating from homeschool, he moved to Georgia with a friend. Being away from home afforded him the opportunity to read all the books he wanted – including authors that had been forbidden in high school. Additionally, he devoured every Jane Austen novel. He got his liberal arts education outside the classroom, figuring that he could study his main interests, literature and history, on his own.
He held a variety of jobs, including working in his Uncle Dan’s welding shop. Being on multiple construction sites piqued Alex’s interest in civil engineering. When he moved back to Lexington in late 2021, he met with a counselor at Bluegrass Community and Technical College, showing excitement about architecture. He registered for a class, which he quickly dropped because he didn’t like it. Recently, he started to revisit the idea of pursuing law. He took a practice test online for LSTAT just to see how he scored; he scored high.
We didn’t realize what was going on inside Alex. Why couldn’t he commit and follow through with a career path? He bought a Bible and a beautiful leather cover for it and read it constantly in our living room the last month of his life. When he wasn’t cooking at South of Wrigley, he was often at our house. Spending so much time in his childhood home was new. He also resolved to improve his personal habits and began to make progress. But at the same time, he admitted that he was struggling with mental illness and needed help. He started calling one of his uncles, and he talked a lot with his friend Caleb. During a counseling session, Alex said he hoped to be better by his sister’s wedding in December. He returned to church after being absent for several years. Only hours before he died, he said he would be joining his family at church the next day.
Scripture says God is light, and in Him there is no darkness at all. Alex, we are thankful that you are reunited with your sweet sister Abby. We are thankful that the darkness is behind you. And we are thankful that you are now in the light.
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By Monday night, it had been darkness for 36 hours, a day and a half since I knew my son was gone. I usually see God in the details of life during the hardest of times, but He was just nowhere to be found in Alex’s death. All night long, I begged God for a sign that HE is in this situation. I just wasn’t seeing Him in any of the details, and I needed to see Him. I asked for my fleece like Gideon had done.
Tuesday, it was time to go to the cemetery to pick out a gravesite. I had something very specific in mind, but I tried not to get my hopes up because I thought it unlikely the location would actually be available. I told the man that I was hoping for a plot in one of the sections next to where our daughter is buried. (I knew Alex couldn’t be in the same section because Abby’s section is reserved for babies and young children.)
He pulled out a map and circled the ”Garden of Innocence,” indicating where Abby was buried, and then he put a pencil mark on one of the three plots he had planned to show us. YES! We drove to the spot and it was exactly where I had hoped. I looked around and thought Alex would have liked it. In the shade of evergreens and right across the little road from where Abby was, it was perfect.
We returned to the office to finish the paperwork and after we had wrapped up and were heading to the elevator to leave, I turned around and thanked the man and said the plot was everything I had wanted and was somehow even more perfect than I had imagined.
He said the interesting thing was that it had originally been part of a double plot that had been purchased, but the owner had sold it back to the cemetery as a single plot in 1999.
This was my fleece.
Alex was born in 1999, so this plot has remained unclaimed, unwanted, unpurchased for 24 years and it was exactly what I wanted. Ok, Lord, thanks! This is YOU being in the details for me. Somehow this space had been reserved for him since the year of his birth.
Below is a photo taken during the graveside service. At the bottom in the foreground is my daughter’s grave, off in the distance is my son’s gravesite. I asked the photographer to take this photo to illustrate how close they are.
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Any apprehension I had melted away at the dinner table that night. She was adorable and polite and I loved her instantly. Mary did too. They talked late into the night. I let them. Normally, I was a stickler about bedtime, but this was different. I was going to let Mary experience sisterhood for the first time. Pack 14 years of missed-out comradery into 2 weeks. Hair and nails and instagram. Giggles and whispers. So much teenage laughter.
We were visiting my sister awaiting the birth of her third baby and she just happened to have another niece staying with them. To be honest, I was apprehensive. The house would be crowded with 2 families plus an extra. Where would we all sleep, and rest, and hang? What would this 17 year old stranger be like? My worries had been unnecessary. My children’s cousin cousin (as I think of our relationship) was the perfect housemate.
I don’t want to diminish or not mention the cousin who Mary spends a week with every summer. Only months separate them in age, and every year for about a week, they’re inseparable. But this felt different. This new cousin of a cousin was a few years older, like an older sister.
Over the years, I have longed for Mary to have a sister. But not just ANY sister. I wanted the sister who was there with me by my side when Mary was born. My yearning was only ever for Abby to not be gone and for Mary and Abby to have grown up together. I didn’t want another daughter, a different daughter.
After Abby died, along came Jackson, a third brother. I can’t even believe how many people seemed disappointed. They assumed that God had taken a girl, He’d give us a girl. A few people actually said well, the next one will be a girl. But there was to be no next one. Our family became complete after 5 babies.
Then something happened as I scrolled facebook. I saw photos from a wedding. They were candids of the pre-teen sister of the groom with her brother’s new bride. The mother of the groom was so happy that her daughter now had a sister. I was transfixed. I had a new realization. And the tears came and wouldn’t stop.
These were happy tears, tears of delight. For the first time, it occurred to me that if Mary’s brothers married, she would have instant sisters. And if Mary married, who knows how many her new husband might bring to the family for Mary.
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Sometimes, I imagine who you would be if you were still here, if you hadn’t died when you were two, if you’d been with us these past 12 years. You’d be here to blow out your 14 birthday candles and open presents. You were number three of five, with two siblings on each side. Would you get lost in the middle somehow because you’re so sweet, quiet, and contemplative?
You would paint beside Jackson and build villages of Minecraft with him . You’d fight with Mary and dance with her and love her and paint her nails and do her hair, and let her do yours. You’d get mad at her because she’s so messy and I imagine you’d be neat. You’d roll your eyes at Caleb because he does silly things, but you’d do silly things beside him. Caleb’s friends would think you’re pretty, but Caleb would chase them away and say to each one, “Dude, that’s my sister. Stay away from her.” You would sip coffee with Alex and contemplate the world’s problems and talk politics and history.
Sometimes I remember the day of the accident. It’s rare that I do, and the dark images invade my thoughts when my head is on my pillow and I’m nearly asleep.
the sound of a small thud
a life-stealing noise
your blood flowed unhindered
your heart slowed until it could push no more
i was there when you met Jesus
when your breaths no longer came
stillness
emptiness
you were dead with us
you became alive elsewhereI bought purple tulips for your birthday. When I put them in the vase, they stood straight and stiff; it was hard to arrange them, but today they droop gracefully.
In daylight, occasionally I imagine you’re still here, that we never had to bury you and walk away, that there isn’t a grave bearing your name. If you were here, your hair would be the color of the sun and glow beneath the moonlight. You’d love Jesus.
but you’re not here
so i take a deep breath and go forward
and do the stuff i need to do.
life.
and somewhere across the veil
that separates heaven and earth,
you move and breathe and live
and love and sing and dance and worship.
the wind carries your hair far away.
i feel the whisper of a touch on my cheek
and i smile,
knowing you’re living elsewhere -
I’ve been mulling this post over since summer, waiting to write it on the occasion of my daughter Abby’s 13th birthday.
This post is my answer to the question that has been voiced more than once:
It’s been 10 years; when are you going to get over it?
The 10 years is in reference to the 10th anniversary of my daughter’s death which occurred last March.
To put it simply, I will never get over it. I will never forget my daughter. Not her birth. Not her death. Not her life. Her birthday is the hardest for me, even harder than her death day, her heaven day, the day that she stopped dancing with me and started dancing with the angels. For those of you new to my story, she died suddenly. No warning. An accident.
Abby grew in me. Thrived in me. Moved in me: just like her siblings Alex, Caleb, Mary, and Jackson lived in me.
On the eve of all my children’s birthdays each year, I remember these things and I bake a cake. Judging from facebook and talk at baby showers, I am not the only woman who does this. It seems that every woman whether the baby is still in her arms or in high school or her baby is a 50 year old neurosurgeon, the mother remembers how hard the labor was, or how short, or how horrendous, or how he came out butt first, or how the labor went on for 48 hours or how it was so fast,they barely made it to the hospital or the midwife almost didn’t make it in time to the house. Oh happiest of days is the day that a new baby is born into a family! Every single year, we women, remember those moments of labor and birth on our children’s birthdays.
Abby dying doesn’t erase the memories of her pregnancy, labor and birth, and 2 short years.
Just because Abby is dead, doesn’t mean that my mind stops going to my last hours of pregnancy, when I labored to bring her into the world so I could finally hold her in my arms.
I do this with all my kids. But with my other children, there is joyous celebration, and an anticipation that comes with a present or two, and a special birthday lunch followed by a birthday box or envelope from Grandma and Grandpa VC. Alex, Caleb, Mary and Jackson are right there in front of me and can smile at their cake and blow out their candles as I take photos. I can think about how small they once were, and revel in how much they’ve grown. My 8 pound babies are now tall, one is over 6 feet tall.
But with Abby? She is not in front of me laughing at her cake and presents. There is nothing. Only 2 years of memories. Only flowers to take to a cemetery. And sometimes it just gets to me. The absence of her overwhelms me and I weep. I cry hard. I need a hug and a little understanding. Is that bad? Is that wrong? To borrow a friend’s line, I just want to be extended the “grace to grieve.”
Remember my first sentence? My daughter Abby’s 13 birthday? Oh. My. Word. 13 years old she would be. 13 years old she is in heaven at the feet of Jesus.
Happy birthday baby girl. I know that I’ll see you again someday.
These are the flowers your sister picked out for you 🙂
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i walk upon this barren land; it’s cold
the season that has no color
the ground and trees are dark and gray and brownscattered around me are the stones
etched with names and dates and poems
symbols, the markers of death, of no more lifeburied here are the children
who never lived outside the womb
who were born and breathed, but died
and some like mine who lived longer, but not so long at allthis place beckons me every march
nine years ago death came and grabbed her
and took her breath away
it took my breath too, but left me livingburied far away from here and not too long ago
are the bones of her grandmother
she would walk this place with me
with love and tears, but she never will againand now this march i grieve
for both my mother and my daughter
but I know that they’re togetheri bring flowers to this grave
that are dead and nine years old
white roses dried and kept
the same ones that had been draped on a little casketthey’ve been sitting on my dresser
dropping petals into their vase
gathering dust, lots of dust
i’ve held onto them, cherishing thembut I scatter them now, releasing the dust
these petals, the color of earth
some will blow away
some will cling to ground or stonethe crumpled petals unleash the tears
i try to let go of this burden
will I be lighter?soon this landscape will come alive with spring,
the colors will chase the brown away
daffodils and forsythia and tulips
cherry trees will drip with pink blossomsi’ll come back to see the spring
and smell the sweetness
and drive these tears away
and think of those i’ll see again
grieving with guinever 