Day One: The Six Year Journey from Dawn to Dusk

During this terrible day, I could only repeat these words, “It’s just me now,”. My sister died in May of 2017 and my mother passed in November 2021. I came to the country alone in April 1975 as a refugee / immigrant during a war after the presumed death of my birth parents during the fall of Saigon – I arrived tabula rosa with factory settings.

In a way, it was returning things to factory settings, so to speak. It was a fairly simple summation of my state of being if not a perpetual state of loneliness. Time passed for the rest of the world but for me, it seemed to stand forever still – this one terrible day.

There are terrible days in one’s life. These are days you never forget. These are days you seem to never get past. Friday May 26, 2017 was such a day for me. It was the terrible day my sister died from addiction while in hospice care, however unlike most days, this day never seemed to end.

November 18, 2021 was another terrible part of the same terrible day – for that was the day my adoptive mother passed away from cancer. She was in the hospital for potentially life extending treatment and never made it out. The terrible day that never ended wouldn’t conclude until I found a place that I could go and say goodbye – 6 years later. Until then, time stood still for me.

The funny thing about time standing still is the rest of the world keeps moving. I would need to find a place that stood frozen in time where I could see them again – if only in my own mind. I finally found a place where I could go to deal with the losses. It was a place that hadn’t changed much over the last 40 years. It was just the “same enough” to be able to go back and deal with the pain and the loss.

Woodloch Pines has not changed much in the last 40 years. It is an all-inclusive vacation resort on a lake. My family has a long legacy of visiting that well known but tucked-away resort located in the Pocono Mountains called ‘Woodloch Pines’ or now simply ‘Woodloch’. August 26, 1972 is the date on file with Woodloch Pines where my grandparents first started ‘coming to Woodloch’ as the phrase is known. It was a family experience spanning decades for me.

Over the following decades my parents, aunt and uncle, sibling, and other family members would both visit with my grandparents as well as book weeks of their own– it was a continuous thing for all of them – except me as I had not gone in at least 15 years. A timeshare called ‘The Lakehouse’ had been deeded to me in my mother’s passing. I share it on a rotation with two other people – two other people who don’t resist going.

I had resisted going to the lakehouse for quite some time however one of the other shares could not go this year and asked if I’d swap and go this year. I agreed to – and immediately began to feel regret that I’d been kind enough to do this. This lakehouse being deeded to me is what facilitated this return – and I thought I’d just pack the car up and hide out in the lake house until the week ended.

I packed my car full of stuff. I figured I’d just stay in the lakehouse and be occupied the entire time. I brought all my work gear plus an old Apple IIc computer. I drove from Nashville, TN to Hagerstown, MD to New York, NY and then to the Lakehouse in Hawley, PA. I stayed in New York for a period both to prepare myself and to try to have a good time before dealing with the inevitable – returning to this lakehouse after 15 years.

15 years is a long absence from doing any activity. I had moved from Harrisburg, PA to NYC to Nashville, TN. It was too long of a drive and too much time away to make the drive to Woodloch. Things changed when my mother passed away. “Going to Woodloch” for some is something to look forward to all year long – at least most normal people do.

For me “going to Woodloch” was a nightmare coming closer to reality as well as being in this “Lakehouse” by myself. I’m not a “people person” so connecting with another group or family would only turn the nightmare into a bigger ‘self-inflicted’ nightmare. I figure this is something I have to walk thru myself – even if this Lakehouse is huge and I am 1.

The huge Lakehouse is designed for roughly 10 people. In theory most people invite family members throughout “their week” to come and go. For me, my sister was dead, my mother was dead so that just leaves me – this is not something my 30 year old daughter would enjoy. As far as I’ve been able to learn, Woodloch offered some kind of legal instrument in the 70’s to fund the building of the lakehouses and first rights – and that’s where my grandparents came in and secured it in a way to be passed on to others generationally.

The lakehouse deed passed from my grandparents to their children (my mother, uncle, and aunt) and then to me, an aunt, and a cousin. I get 1 week every 3 years, the other two get the other weeks. There’s a deed filed in the local county with my name on it so it’s a real tangible asset as far as those things go – it’s an old school timeshare from the 1970’s – not the kind you try to get out of – but the kind people always ask you to sell them. The lakehouse is a large structure and the first nightmares I began to have was being in it by myself.

I wasn’t even in it myself the last turn my family had. The last turn was the time my mother was in the lakehouse – she was dying. We were to do a transitional visit where she would walk me through what to do – but as she was dying, she wanted to come up alone but I and my uncle insisted she take my uncle (her brother) as there would be no one to know if she fell or died in the lakehouse. All I could send her way was words.

I spoke some pretty bold words: I told her before she left that I understood the lakehouse was a shared experience of her and her family – and if she wanted to ‘let go’ i.e. die in the lakehouse I’d be okay. I wanted her to be happy and for her Woodloch was the definition of happy – if you’re gonna die might as well be here where ysou are surrounded by some of your best memories. My uncle couldn’t bear coming after that final time with her and ceded his deeded share to one of my cousins immediately after. For my week it’s just me – myself.

Walking into the Lakehouse by myself was challenging – alone. I wanted to get on – and get gone. I had figured I’d leave Thursday if I could even endure the haunting chills that long. My mother wanted me to come but she was also clear I needed to state a succession plan – she didn’t see my tenure lasting that long as she was in her final year of life ailing from Leukemia and eventually dying of cancer. I thought they were all long gone – but here I could see them.

I walked through it and saw where my grandparents would room, my parents, my sister (who died of alcoholism / organ failure – my mother never recovered from that loss), and me. I wondered where I would room. I could see them. Not as apparitions or something demonic but as memories. I was an adult and child at the same time.

It seemed strange to room where my grandparents would – I wasn’t adult enough for that – but the other rooms were on the second floor – I was no longer a child for that. It would be equally strange to be up there and have the bottom empty. I figured since I was the host I would take..the master bedroom on the first floor. There was more adulting ahead – but first there was a childhood escape.

As a child I’d escape into my Apple IIC computer – so I brought one up to the Lakehouse. It became a safe place for me to retreat to all week. The Apple IIc was the first serious computer I’d been given. My mother got it for me around the 7th grade based on what the computer lab at school had.

The computer lab at school had Apple IIe’s but the IIc was the home computer of choice. This was the computer I’d learned to program on. I used to get magazines from the book store and type programs in. It was also something my mother helped me with.

My mother would help when I got tired or frustrated. This was also the type of computer I had a modem hooked up to and ran a Bulletin Board System (BBS) on. Part of this grieving process – for me at least – was being able to just immerse myself into the very computing experience that my mother encouraged me in and that laid the groundwork for my future business.

I still had to run my business so I had my work gear spread out as well. There was plenty of room to spread it out. I still had work to do – while I had to go on this journey, my clients did not and their businesses kept moving forward so I set everything up for a remote office and ran a great deal of it from my Ipad from different parts of the resort.

As I walked the grounds I saw a sign on the main dining room that T-shirts were not acceptable for dinner. I didn’t pack anything else. I went down to the gift shop and bought a night time robe. The sign didn’t say anything about a robe not being acceptable. Part of me just wanted to see if I’d get kicked out of the dining room – I think part of me wanted to get kicked out so I wouldn’t have to face it. I did find it amusing that I was spending my own money in the gift shop. That never happened before. It’s different when it’s not your parents money.

Not having my parent’s money hurt the most when it came to video games. My mother would have rolls of quarters for me and my sister to get through the week. I went to see the Hershey Room – (one of) Woodloch’s game rooms. My sister and I spent a lot of time there. I could see her there as I walked through the game room. There were other parts of the resort that I could see my family.

There were other parts of the resort where I could see my grandfather or mother – My mother loved an entertainment venue called the North Lodge and I could find my grandfather in a room called “the card room”. There was also a venue called “The Night club” which was somewhat of a new thing my final visits and didn’t bring back any kind of memory other than being the place I never went – but my mother loved it. She would talk about how some things had changed over the years.

In fact much of what is there now wasn’t there then and we stayed rather humbly as a family when not in the Lakehouse with my grandparents but there were times we came up on our own – just the nuclear family – and stayed in other accommodations on the resort.

When I stayed with my parents during ‘their week’ we were in other accommodations, starting with motel-like rooms that were either “Timberline”, “Gateway” or “Ripple Cove” units, and then we grew into newer units for families that were called “the Springbrook units” which had their own pool among other amenities. It was walking through the Springbrook units that I could see my family.

I went into the lobby of the Springbrook units and sat in the chairs on the second floor. I did that as a kid but now as an adult, I could feel the chills, just waiting for my mother or sister to come get me – but that wouldn’t happen. They were long gone – and yet sitting there they were also here. But I couldn’t sit there forever and part of a resort on a lake is actually…getting on the lake.

Getting on a lake requires a boat. Looking at the pedal boats and canoes, I realized how little work I probably put into pedaling or rowing as a kid, so I skipped those and just put myself on one of the boats someone takes you around in. But you can’t stay on the boat all day either in fact the ride is remarkably short as an adult. The boat ride sure seemed longer as a kid – and so you have to get off eventually and start walking.

Walking the property as a whole – from the Hershey game room to the North Lodge, the card room, gift shop, it was all eerie to me. This was something of a mashup of nostalgia and a live wake. Since my mother and sister were cremated there was no grave to visit – this visit was probably the closest thing to a memorial there was for me – and a place to let the grief go.

I’ve struggled with grief and closure with both of them and Woodloch was the one common experience we all had. It was the place I could still find them in that vast place I call my memory. I wasn’t sure how long I could endure this – but dinner made me reconsider.

In the lakehouses, meals in the dining room are not included – it’s all inclusive for most everyone else but those in the timeshares. I know my ability to cook is probably on par with my ability to deal with loss – non existant – so I booked dinners in the dining room for each night. It would save the fire department from coming to the Lakehouse.

I can’t cook or grill – to do so would risk burning down the lakehouse. Besides, dinner in the dining room was something my family did when we came up as a nuclear family and stayed in regular accommodations. It was the one time we were all together during the day as we tended to split up and do different activities across the resort. This time however it would just be me coming to sit in the dining room.

The first night I sat down in the dining room a waitress wearing a name tag of Susana greeted me. Before taking my order she took the time to listen to this tale of a 15 year absence and the unease that came long with coming back. I am also a person of color and truth be told, this week in particular the resort seemed a bit short on those so I also felt like a fish-out-of-water to put it gently. It’s a tough issue to discuss let alone with a well-trained resort employee.

Resort employees are trained in hospitality and trained to endure guest-after-guest, story-after-story but given the labor shortage and the nature of this work, Susana stood out to me. It was a bright moment in an otherwise private world of darkness.

Despite the darkeness of the total memorial wake going on in my head, Susana listened which I was not expecting. This dinner time gave me hope and I decided instead of leaving early Thursday morning I would stay until Saturday morning. I already had a mid-point hotel room booked and arrangements for oversight of my home while I was away so I extended and changed those plans so I would stay until Saturday morning. Sometimes just one person listening changes everything.

Susana listening probably made all the difference in me staying or going. From a Woodloch perspective other than the dining revenue, it wouldn’t make a difference to them since there’s no additional revenue from me except the association dues each quarter. It’s a strange thing. It had been quite the day and part of me just needed to retreat once again to the 13 year old on the computer his mother had bought him.

I still kept retreating into my computer, being a child once again. I had a device called a Floppy EMU which was basically a box with an SD card loaded with Apple IIc disks on it. Although the computer still read 5.25″ floppies quite well, the Floppy EMIU was a time saver especially when one is grieving at the same time as they are retreating into the past to create a buffer from the grief.

Grief is also a strange thing. I was a Vietnam war orphan evacuated during the fall of Saigon in April 1975 – my birth parents are presumed killed during the evacuation – think Ukraine or Gaza but much worse. Processing through the additional loss of my adoptive family has been…problematic…at best. But I was walking through this and I could see the sun beginning to go down on this 7-year-long day.

The visit up to Tuesday night was fairly depressing but that’s part of processing grief, right? I sat in the card room Tuesday afternoon and heard the Bingo announcer run through the rest of the day’s events and “Woodloch Horse Racing” caught my attention. I enjoyed that activity as a kid but much like the gift shop visits, I knew this was my money I was going to be messing with. I finally began to feel up to activities.

I felt good enough to do some activities by this point which included horse racing. I’d always done it as a child but with my mother’s money. I had only brought $5 in cash so I used all $5 and lost all $5. It was a bit harder losing one’s own money. The activity itself was the first time this visit I felt any semblance of good about any of this. Horse racing wasn’t the only activity we enjoyed as a family – each night there was a movie playing in a different part of the resort.

Back before people could carry movies with them anywhere on their laptop or hook up a DVD player to a TV, we would go to the “York Room” to watch scheduled movies. It was a room set up with chairs and either a TV or projector showing a classic or recent movie. It was a very low key activity but some days were like that – movies, walking around, etc.

When I walked the grounds I saw many different things. I saw a new building being built, kids on school trips, just to name a few. I couldn’t imagine kids getting to choose Woodloch as a senior trip but this was a thing. Watching these things unfold in front of me as I walked around was a pleasant refreshing from all the processing going on in my head. Walking was good.

I walked the grounds quite a bit more than I expected to. Retracing steps I’d taken as a kid with my mother was something I just felt drawn to do. I could see my mother and my sister in the memories all around me. I don’t believe I could have done this anywhere else.

There is only so much I can process but I’ve processed more here than I probably could have elsewhere. Woodloch was for my family a time before divorce, before death, a time when things were happier. In my life I’ve travelled the world to help orphans, legally adopted an orphan, lost a baby in my arms, served the homeless regularly, as well as started a last-stop home for unwanted cats and aid regularly with an outreach to the Hispanic Immigrant community in Nashville. This trip in addition to processing thru all the losses is also somewhat of a respite. Compassion fatigue is real. Sometimes the world becomes a hard place.

When the world becomes a hard place, sometimes it helps just to sit. I sat outside by the lake in a lounger – the same kind of lounger my mother would fall asleep in. It was really something just to sit there – and sit there. It was Wednesday and I could see the sun setting on this 7-year day. Thursday would be a brand new day.

On Thursday I woke up and felt relatively good, for the first time in a long time – it was, shall we say, day one. I went to the gift shop to buy trinkets and wrote / distributed thank you cards to the front desk, lakehouse coordinator, dining room head and my waitress-for-the-week. While I was at the gift shop I did encounter someone who recognized my mothers obituary picture. Were they feigning recognition as part of hospitality I wondered.

Hospitality is a thing while resort employees are going through constant loops 52 weeks a year and however many years their time consists of. The individual who recognized the photo gave me some specifics that verified she actually recognized the photo. This was the beginning of seeing light instead of darkness and being able to speak of my family without seeing them everywhere I turned. It was also the end of the week.

Friday was a wrap up day. I was able to take a final cruise around the lake and talk to some more long-time employees about my mother – namely John Kiesendahl and Sam Abuschinow. I found that it helped to speak to people who I knew that actually knew my mother – her funeral was filled with people I did not know or had not seen in over 30 years.

At her funeral I said a few words in a press conference style (taking no questions) and left before dismissal. I had little-to-nothing to say individually to the mostly-strangers in the room at her funeral – but at Woodloch it felt like people who I knew and knew her. As I walked in the first moments of a new day, my reality wasn’t far away.

A business associate of mine was in the area – all the way from where I live in Nashville. He came over for lunch and a tour of the grounds. For me that was a reminder that the real world was ever so close by. In fairness he and I do lunch or dinner in many different cities in the country as we both travel – and we never plan the time – we just both end up in the same cities fairly often and get together at a moments notice. As quickly as he came, he left and I was alone again for one last evening by the lake.

In the evening I sat by the lake – one of the two places my family would be all-in-one-place and had a memorial moment to my mother and my sister. I thought it was important to have that moment. As I waited for the magic show to start in the Night Club one of the drink napkins stood in for a tissue box as the loss hit me pretty hard. And then it was time to pack.

As I packed up, the real world as edging closer and closer. Another loop started at Woodloch, but for me, it was time to go home. What was a place of haunting memories at the beginning of the week became a place where I know my family will always be and a place where I can always be with them, in a way. I didn’t want to come here in the first place – but now I wish I could stay here forever.

Afterword

I began writing about the grieving process in real-time but then months passed – 7 of them to be exact. I had tried to sit down and pull everything together a few times without success. Then on November 21, 2023 – 2 years after my mother’s passing – I decided to do it as I sat in a room at Sheraton Four Points in Brentwood, TN. It was 6 1/2 – now 7 hours of revisions and photos.

I converted all the photos and uploaded them to my website. I then copy and pasted the original (and incomplete ) writing I did back in May 2023 on to a blog page and then with my second monitor reviewed photos and started putting the photos where they belonged in the narrative and if there wasn’t narrative for certain photos I then shoehorned narrative in figuring I’d polish it later. By the time this is being read, I probably have polished it up quite a bit.