August 2025 James Camp

“Still Standing”: A Life Reclaimed After Brain Injury and Setbacks

By James Camp, Jr.

I’ve never thought of myself as someone special. If anything, my story is probably like a lot of others—some good, some bad, and some things I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I was raised in a working-class family, with a deep connection to the land and the lumber industry. For over 50 years, my family’s been part of the woods in northern Maine. I grew up believing in hard work, loyalty, and showing up—even when life doesn’t go your way.

But like many young men, I made mistakes early on. I got into trouble, got caught up in the legal system, and for a long time, I felt like I couldn’t shake that label and that I was being judged by things that didn’t reflect who I really was. It’s a strange kind of loneliness—being misunderstood and unheard—but I know others have walked that path too.

Things turned even harder when I lost a job under difficult circumstances. The stress of that situation—on top of everything else—triggered a stroke. That day changed everything. I went from working with my hands and solving problems to struggling with memory, focus, and just getting through a normal conversation. The world became fuzzy, frustrating. People didn’t always understand that brain injuries aren’t just physical—they mess with your confidence, your sense of self, your hope.

For a while, my doctors thought my stroke had been caused by a PFO (a small hole in my heart), but eventually, it was determined that the real cause was a dissection of my carotid arteries—the inner layers of the arteries tearing apart. It’s not an easy thing to treat. Today, one of my carotid arteries is completely blocked—nonfunctional—and the other is 80% occluded. I’ve been told there’s nothing more they can do right now. It’s a hard truth to live with.

And yet, I keep moving forward. After my stroke, I wasn’t alone—one of my ex-girlfriends came to the hospital, and from that moment forward, she helped me get through each day. I haven’t received a penny of income since the stroke—I’m still fighting for Social Security approval—and without her support, I truly don’t know where I’d be right now. Her care has been nothing short of lifesaving.

I also have one companion who’s been with me every step—Howard, my duck. Me, my daughter, and my ex picked him out at Tractor Supply about a year before the stroke. I know it might sound unusual to some, but he’s been my shadow ever since—calming, loyal, funny. He senses when something’s wrong and just stays by me. He’s not just a pet; he’s a friend. A real one.

And then there’s Summer—my daughter, 13 years old, and the absolute light of my life. She’s kind, sharp, beautiful, thoughtful. We have a close bond, and everything I’m building now is for her. I want her to see that even when life falls apart, you don’t quit. You rebuild. You fight for meaning. You show up.

That’s why I started The Camp Lumber Project. We use our land and sawmill to make quality lumber products and cabin kits, but more importantly, we create jobs and training for people in recovery, returning from incarceration, and those who’ve been forgotten or left behind. It’s not just a business—it’s a place where people get another shot. Like I did.

We also have a nonprofit wing in development, which I’ll be co-leading alongside Dr. Mark Morin, a respected physician from Presque Isle who has stood beside me through this entire journey. We’re also joined by John Hollibird, a close friend from Caribou who’s deeply rooted in our community. Together, we aim to expand into housing, mental health care, and long-term support for those starting over.

We’re open to help in any form—financial support, equipment, volunteers, professional advice, even just a kind word. We’re not trying to be a miracle—just a solid place where people can land when everything else has gone wrong.

I don’t share all this to ask for pity. I share it because I want people to know the truth—that you can still matter even after everything. Even after legal trouble. Even after a brain injury. Even after you’ve been told there’s no way forward.

Because I’m still here. I’ve got my daughter. I’ve got Howard. I’ve got purpose.

And I’m still standing.

To learn more about The Camp Lumber Project, reach out to James at camplumber2025@gmail.com.