In spring of 2011, after I received a breast cancer diagnosis, I started a walking practice. I’ve been walking ever since. My walking feet have taken me along the National Trail on South Mountain (by the Seed), scrambled up and down Triund near Dharamshala, India, and dragged myself to Tiger’s Nest that clings to a cliff in the Himalayas of Bhutan. Walking has become my go-to when I need a break or am processing experiences lingering in my mind. It’s when I listen to podcasts and explore various genres of music, or just absorb sounds of nature. One walk I’ve been interested in for awhile is the Camino de Santiago in Spain, France, and Portugal.
Two and a half years ago when I was in Nebraska for my mother’s memorial service. I was there with several members of my family, including my granddaughter Grace, who was 19 at the time. We were sitting at a park talking about traveling, which we both loved. I asked Grace if she would be interested in traveling with me someday, and she eagerly said yes. I suggested that one place we might want to consider would be the Camino in Spain. We kept talking about it, trying to decide when we should go. We met for one “official” meeting to initiate planning this journey. Grace, unbeknownst to me at the time, bought a backpack and began filling it with items for the trip. In the meantime, I kept traveling to previously planned places, and she continued her own adventures to various locations like the Grand Canyon, Angel’s Landing in Utah, and Yosemite.
On July 13, 2024, Grace was hiking Half Dome in Yosemite with her dad. As she descended from the top, the onset of a sudden storm caused Grace to slip and fall to her death. She was an experienced hiker living her joy. Our family is still grieving this loss a year and a half later. The grief has become a part of our lives, and we all continue learning how to incorporate it into our healing practices. For myself, connecting with the natural world always seems to bring a sense of Grace into my days.
In a spirit of remembrance and honoring Grace, I’ll soon be traveling to Spain with a friend to walk part of the Camino de Santiago. We will walk about 100 miles in ten days, a short Camino by some standards, and end up at Finisterre. Finisterre is on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean, and is often referred to as “the end of the world.”
I first heard of Finisterre from a poem by David Whyte. It’s the primary place along the Camino I told Grace about that I wanted to be sure to visit. At the end of April when we arrive at Finisterre, she will not be there with me in her human form. This will, no doubt, bring up a sadness as vast as the ocean before me. Yet I also know she’ll be with us every step of the way. We’ll see her light in brilliant orange sunsets and feel her spirit as the wind accompanies us along our Camino path. I look forward to this journey to honor Grace, and discover deeper aspects of my own being. I will be a pilgrim walking for Grace, for myself, my family, and all of you who are a part of my life. These words from Camino, another David Whyte poem, say it better than anything I could ever write:
“But your loss brought you here to walk
under one name and one name only,
and to find the guise under which all loss can live;
remember, you were given that name every day
along the way, remember, you were greeted as such,
and treated as such and you needed no other name,
other people seemed to know you even before
you gave up being a shadow on the road
and came into the light, even before you sat down,
broke bread and drank wine,
wiped the wind-tears from your eyes:
pilgrim they called you,
pilgrim they called you again and again. Pilgrim.”