Pitcher's family, Moyer Foundation still serve Seattle

From his new life, Jamie Moyer calls and launches right into a self-deprecating tale.

It's early August, and two days earlier, Moyer had turned into a fullback. The pitcher laid down a sacrifice bunt, and after a wild throw, he knocked over first-base umpire Randy Marsh on his way to second. Then the throw in from right field was errant, so Moyer sputtered onto third. And in the next at-bat, Philadelphia Phillies teammate Jimmy Rollins hit a sacrifice fly, which had Moyer rumbling home just ahead of the catcher's tag.

Surely, after that game, the 45-year-old drank an extra glass of his youth potion.

"Oh, man, what a debacle," Moyer recalls, laughing. "At least I scored."

Don't you miss him? His humor, his modesty, his overachieving excellence.

His benevolence.

Well, the latter remains, remarkably. Moyer, the player, is gone. But the Moyer Foundation has only grown since the Mariners traded the nomadic lefty who finally found a home in Seattle.

In a transient sports world, this is rare. Athletes come and go, foundations open and close. The good deeds have the shelf life of a rose, wilting before you truly experience them.

The Moyers are different. The melancholy trade occurred two years ago, and concerns about the foundation's future have been answered. Jamie is too committed to falter. His wife, Karen, is too energetic. Their staff is too skilled.

Together, they've turned change into opportunity. Together, they've kept Jamie from turning into a migrant pitcher again.

This is home. Always will be.

Dreams come true

The Moyer Foundation is a kaleidoscope of goodwill for children. It's an organization with constantly evolving, constantly growing, services. Most foundations of its size specialize in providing narrowly focused help. Not this one. Spend time with Karen, and you understand why.

During an interview, she often talks her way into a new idea and starts pondering how to make it happen. Many of her co-workers at the foundation's Magnolia office say their job is to make her big dreams feasible.

On this day, we're talking about Camp Erin, a signature summer service for the foundation. It's not a single event. It's a movement. There are now 18 camps in 12 states. It's the largest network of bereavement camps in the nation, and the Moyers plan to expand the project to every major-league city.

The goal is to help children grieve for lost loved ones. The foundation partners with hospice agencies, which help turn the event into a combination of fun and emotional cleansing.

Last month, at Camp River Ranch in Carnation, the Providence Hospice of Seattle led about 90 kids through the profound experience. Traditional camp activities were mixed with grief sessions.

At every Camp Erin, there's a memory board in which children post pictures of their loved ones and share a few thoughts. Near the end of camp, there's a poignant "love light" ceremony, in which the children place these love lights in the river in memory of their loved ones. It's a way of letting go. It's a way of healing.

In between, grieving and joy intertwine, laughter and tears entangle, and sorrow becomes manageable.

"These kids share these amazing stories and reveal something in the core of their hearts," said Ward Stern, the Camp Erin coordinator for Seattle. "It's so amazing. I remember being at the dance during camp, and I was giving a girl a piggyback ride, and we danced past the memory board. She says, 'Yay, there's my dad!' Those small moments are so wonderful."

Beginnings of Camp Erin

This is the kind of impact the Moyers hoped to have. Camp Erin isn't just a service. It's more personal than that.

It was named after Erin Metcalf, a liver-cancer patient the Moyers befriended before she died eight years ago at age 17. Erin was so compassionate, so giving. Jamie and Karen knew they had to honor her in this manner.

The idea for a bereavement camp actually goes back 16 years, to when Karen lost her grandfather. While in South Bend, Ind., at the time, Karen first dealt with hospice workers and realized the impact they had in turning death into a precious moment.

"To see his last breath was a gift to me, and hospice comforted me, and they comforted my grandmother," Karen said. "They help you get through the next steps."

Said Jamie: "Honestly, until my wife's grandfather passed, I didn't know what hospice was. Death is not a fun thing, but they made it easier."

The Moyers were so touched they teamed with country singer Garth Brooks to raise enough money to endow a South Bend bereavement retreat called Camp Evergreen. Ten years later, they started one of their own.

Now they're nearly $4 million into the first phase of their campaign to put a Camp Erin in every major-league city. In all, they would have about 60 camps across the country. And then the goal is to raise more money to fund additional camps nationwide. And during another creative interlude, Karen mentioned some intriguing international locations.

So when Jamie was traded to Philadelphia, it turned into more fundraising opportunities. In 22 major-league seasons, Moyer has lived in seven cities. Before his 10-year stay with the Mariners, he must've used a duffle bag as a pillow. So, naturally, he knew how to handle the challenge that change created for the foundation.

"It would've been really easy to say, 'OK, I got traded. We're leaving. Bye,' " Jamie said. "But that's not the case. The friendships, the foundation, that's what keeps us here. This trade is a little blip on the radar, but it's nothing anybody needs to be concerned about."

Moyers on the move

For years, Karen had trouble delegating. Until recently, she paid every foundation bill and deposited every check.

"I'm a bit of a dinosaur," she admits.

Of late, however, she has learned to rely on her staff. They deserve it. And she needs the help. Otherwise, life will get too complicated.

The Moyer family, which includes seven children, lives in Seattle. But Jamie plays in Philadelphia, where he is 14-7 with a 3.68 earned-run average this season. He says he wants to return for another season, and certainly the Phillies will have him back.

Now, there's a new layer of displacement: The Moyers are moving to Florida for the school year. The two oldest children, Dillon (17) and Hutton (15), will train at the IMG Baseball Academy in Bradenton, Fla. So the Moyers have bought a house nearby.

They aren't selling their home here. They still plan to spend the summer months here. But a busy family just got busier.

For the seven foundation staffers in Magnolia, that means more responsibility. Karen will be just as active with foundation work, but she won't be around as much.

"It's time," Karen said. "It's ready for its natural growth."

The roving Moyers always knew this moment would come. They've moved too much. They know the fluid nature of pro sports. They prepared for this possibility.

Near the end of his Mariners run, Jamie sensed change was coming. In 2005, the Mariners tried to deal him to Houston, but he invoked his no-trade clause. Tired of losing, he accepted the Mariners' trade proposal to Philly the next year. It was time for something fresh.

"If he had remained a Mariner, he would be retired," Karen said matter-of-factly.

Instead, in Philadelphia, Jamie is the youngest 45-year-old in America. And Camp Erin is gaining even more recognition. And the entire foundation enjoys the security of a sound infrastructure.

"At one point, playing in Seattle, I thought I'd never leave," Jamie said. Then the nomadic lefty paused to mull over his remarks.

"Then again, I guess we've never left. And we never will."

Jerry Brewer: 206-464-2277 or jbrewer@seattletimes.com. For his Extra Points blog, visit seattletimes.com/sports