Twenty-four months

Posted on June 25, 2014 by curibe2014

Gus – Where are you?

I’ve been contemplating the difference between months and years this past week, deciding that there is a certain infancy implied in “months” that is lost in “years”. Consider a two-year old toddler, saying they are 24 months old still says “baby” even if that “baby” walks and talks. So as the second anniversary of Gus’ passing neared, I decided it would not be two years since I last held him but a mere twenty-four months, since I last rubbed his feet and kissed his face. I would be slowing time this way, artificially shortening the distance between when he was last here and today.

As the day got closer, my husband worked later and later as much to keep up with work as to avoid coming home. He felt bad about this, apologizing constantly for leaving me “alone” but I was not hurt, I had my own distractions; like purging the house, reading, writing and exercising, anything to keep from having too much time to cry. Early yesterday morning, shortly after when Gus would have taken his last breath those many months before, a curious thing happened. My husband came to bed late, about 1:30 am. He was tired but could not sleep, the weight of the next day starting to settle on him. I was asleep but restless, my dreams retracing the last twenty-four hours of his life trying to find the point where I might have saved him from his fate. We sat up from our various places to the sound of footsteps, two feet were clearly making their way from the boy’s rooms towards ours, stopping just at the entrance to our room. My sub-conscious mind called out “Gus!”, recalling the many years Gus had done that, walk from his room to our room stopping at the door to call to us before jumping into our bed. My mouth however, operated by my conscious mind that knew it could not be Gus, called out “Frankie?”, as unlikely as it was that we could not see a 6’1, 22 year-old man standing at our open door. My husband scrambled for the light, hoping we wouldn’t find a stranger crawling into our room, instead finding our dog “Girl” staring at us with a look of sympathy and understanding. Never mind that Girl knows better than to come upstairs and on the rare occasion that she does, her steps do not sound like feet. They sound like paws with little nails click clacking on the wood floor, slip-sliding on the rug in the hallway. We let her lay down next to our bed, knowing that Gus had brought her to comfort us.

We still cried at the mass we dedicated to him the following morning and as we placed flowers, a bag of his favorite hot cheetos and a snicker’s bar at his niche but the phantom steps of the night before stayed with us, assuring us that as the months turn to years he will always be with us.

Girl – Gus never got a chance to name her so she is just “Girl” – by the way Girl stayed downstairs the following night.

Gus did have a chance to meet her via phone.

But he did have a chance to meet her via phone.

Our Camino – Final Thoughts – April 12, 2013

Posted on June 23, 2014 by curibe2014

Buen Camino

We took a bus from Finisterre back to Santiago de Compostela. What had taken us four days to walk was covered in less than three hours. The landscape looked different from the confines of a bus and as we rode along we thought about how the Camino had affected us.

When we planned the trip, we doubted that we could make it from Sarria to Finisterre, we wondered if the pain in our hearts would amplify the inevitable pain in our legs, leaving us stranded in the middle of Spain. We were angry, secretly demanding that God explain himself via burning bush or a hand written apology, however we’d settle for a glimpse of Gus, walking along with us, maybe just slightly ahead. It was crazy of course but this particular “Camino” was a religious pilgrimage so why not? There were no notes of course and the ground was too wet for bushes to burn, even miraculous ones, and all we were ever saw were cows but as we walked, we marveled at how much the journey mirrored life.

There were ups and downs and whole areas of mud and sludge that threatened to bog us down. Forward progress went smoothly when “all water was under the bridge”, keeping us stagnant when it was not. We’d proceeded carefully trying to avoid all the “crap”, while others simply stepped in it, but more often than not the “crap” found us anyway.

We thought about how easily we had faith in odd things, like Ewan of MacAdventures (not MacTours) to whom we entrusted our money and personal belongings, not once worrying that our hotels would not be booked or our things would not be safely kept ahead of us; and that the Camino markers were official, always taking us where we needed to go even when they were spray painted on the road; along the side of a house, or a tree. Our struggle with faith therefore was not that we did not have it to throw around but that we had to keep it, even now, when things had gone horribly wrong.

The road to the end of the world was by far the most difficult part of our journey, but just when we wrestled with the idea that leaving Gus rocks, crosses and pictures was pointless and only adding to our misery, we’d met Andrew and Chris who lifted our spirits and were surprised to discover it was us who’d left the amazing rock they’d seen on their way out of Santiago after their own happenstance meeting.

We do not return ready to empty Gus’ room (if ever) or with any more clarity than when we left, but we proved to ourselves that we are stronger than we imagined having walked an average of 20km per day for ten days much like we’ve gotten up everyday since 6-24-12. The Camino has given us some peace knowing that while we will always love Gus and will miss him more with every passing day, we can walk in this new world. Buen Camino.

Until we meet again Gus.

Rock On Baby!

We are on our way.

Our Camino – Finisterre – April 11, 2013

Posted on June 21, 2014 by curibe2014

Onward Pilgrim

We woke up this morning to dark menacing clouds threatening a downpour at any second. Yesterday’s sun had been abducted by the force that insisted our walk be difficult to the end. It brought out our innate dispositions, with me tending toward optimism, insisting it would get sunny therefore going without my rain jacket and my husband tending towards pessimism going for the full rain armor. We set out early after our final “pilgrim’s breakfast” of toast and Iberian ham and cheese. Our legs and feet felt fresh for this final leg, we were sure we’d cover the next fifteen kilometers in record time.

The Camino continued to be a challenge, taking us through more mud, over bigger boulders, across swollen rivers and along partially washed out roads. We thought that after the beautiful Cathedral in Santiago, the ocean-side finishing village of Finisterre would be a disappointment but we were wrong. The sight of waves crashing against the beach as we made our way out of the mountains to walk along the shore was moving in ways we had not anticipated. Further ahead we caught a glimpse of our friends, Andrew and Chris, but they were walking too briskly and we could not catch up. That final ascent to the edge world was for us to walk alone.

As we neared town, we looked up towards the light house at the very edge of the peninsula, but it was barely visible. Like our journey without Gus, it was fitting that our final destination would be encased in fog. Mid-way up the final hill, just as we walked past the statue of a pilgrim appearing to lunge head first into the wind, a ferocious windstorm blew down the hill, pushing us back, but we persisted by taking on the statue’s stance to continue up the road.

The lighthouse was virtually deserted when we arrived, winds swirled and howled all around us, furious, as though we’d done something wrong. To get to the very edge of the cliff where a bronze boot commemorated the pilgrim’s journey, we had to become more than penitent, we had to become beggars, crawling out on all fours just to take a look. We had intended to leave our final offering there but were forced to double back to a sheltered ledge we’d seen near the 0 kilometer marker. There protected from the wind, we pulled out a pair of Gus’ beloved basketball shoes from our packs, each of us having carried one shoe for 215 kilometers. Through a mess of tears we scribbled our final messages to him, leaving one shoe on the ledge with his prayer card and a cross and keeping the other shoe to bring home as a reminder that we will always carry him with us. We walked back to the 0 kilometer marker and left our final rocks – one for Gus’ Wito Juan, his Nana Robyn and one for Gus. We’d just finished taking our final picture, when the heavens opened up, pelting us into seeking shelter at the souvenir kiosk. For a second we thought we could walk back, but as the sheets of rain came down much heavier than any we’d experienced, it was clear to us that our Camino had ended. God and Gus were saying it was time to stop walking and call a cab.

Final Destination encased in fog.

Bronze Pilgrim’s boot.

Gus' shoes - he will always fill up the space between us.

Gus’ shoes – he will always fill the space between us.

Leaving one shoe behind

We did it!

Final Rocks.

Our Camino – Oliveiroa to Cee – April 10, 2013

Posted on June 19, 2014 by curibe2014

To Finisterre

We went to bed early yesterday, exhausted from our journey, with wind and rain continuing to pound against our hotel’s shutters as it had pounded on us all day. We ached all over and dreaded the day to come. We awoke preparing to battle nature once again. We’d even had the line we’d use as we walked head first into a turbulent wind that kept us from advancing. “Is that all you’ve got?” we’d cry like Lt. Dan in Forest Gump. We put on all the layers of clothing we could and got on the road. We’d been walking only a few feet when we heard some calling out to us from behind. It was the Irishman Andrew and his new companion Chris. We gained new troops in our lonely battle, we ready for the next 20km.

The clouds that had been threatening us all morning, soon dissipated as though nature had never had any intention of engaging with us. The sun warming our bodies as our new friends warmed out hearts. Soon we were pealing off clothing, pausing for a brief time to have a nice lunch and marvel at the glorious landscape. We emerged from the trail to a remarkable view of the ocean. As we neared the end of the day’s journey, we realized that our legs were not cramped and our feet did not ache. They felt as fresh and light as though they had not been used and abused for the last 10 days. A miracle?

The sun is out.

The view from our lunch spot just off the road

A church along the Way.

A picture of Gus at a shrine.

The ocean is in sight!

Our Camino – We get by with a little help from our friends – April 9, 2013

Posted on June 18, 2014 by curibe2014

Keep Going

The Camino has a way of bringing things to you just when you need them, like the men who appeared to the group of young women to carry the wheelchairs for them. It was no different for us, when we most needed a boost, some levity, three Irishmen and an Argentinian walked into the bar. No, it is not the start of a pathetic joke, they really did. Andrew, the tallest of the bunch was celebrating his 61st birthday, on this journey to Finisterre. He’d met, Chris the Argentinian at the outskirts of Santiago, the Camino throwing them together as walking companions. Chris, who’d done the walk to Santiago the year before and spoke the language had somehow gone several kilometers in the wrong direction before realizing his error and retracing his steps, getting to the start of the Camino again, just as Andrew was beginning. They’d been walking together for two days. The other two Irishmen, who’s names we did not catch due to their heavy brogue had only just met up with them. They invited us for a drink, apologizing that the bar only carried Scottish Whiskey, we chatted, they joked, we laughed. It was midnight when we all decided to go to bed, our new friends anxious about the difficulty of the next morning’s first ten kilometers, straight up hill they said, the whole way. We divulged that we would not be joining them as our arrangement included a 10 kilometer transfer, they said we did not know how lucky we were and joked they might be begging for a ride.

The next morning, we could not help feeling a little ashamed as we rode comfortably in the cab while the few scattered pilgrims walked up a steep hill along the hard asphalt highway, their trek made even more uncomfortable by a steady downpour. But, as the cab pulled off exactly at the 10 kilometer mark, we had another thought. Providence had lightened our load. Months before, when making the necessary arrangements for our journey, our MacTours booking guru Ewan had informed us of the transfer. We balked at him, not wanting to cut any corners, but Ewan had simply said “trust me, you will want the transfer”. After our experience the day before, the transfer was not only wanted but necessary, another hill would have crippled us for ever. The total walking distance that day was 33 kilometers, we still had another 23 km to go, up and down more knee killing hills in the bitter cold and rain. By the time we arrived at our hotel, exhausted and soaked, we were grateful for the head start. We concluded that God often sends you help well in advance of when you may need it. We thought back on all the people that were put in our lives well in advance of when we’d lose Gus and how much they’d help lighten our load as we went through the worst time in our lives. We are forever grateful.

More hills, more rain.

This tree looks like a hand holding a ring –

One of the few markers for a Gus rock.

God, thanks for the help today.

Our Camino – Santiago to Negreira – April 8, 2013

Posted on June 18, 2014 by curibe2014

To Finisterre – To Santiago

Less than ten percent of pilgrims who arrive in Santiago continue on to what was previously thought of as “the end of the world”, Finisterre. This is true from what we’ve observed, as we’ve only run into a few pilgrims since leaving Santiago, mostly solitary men. The journey is more difficult, on this side of the “Camino”. The distance between towns is greater, the road more treacherous and less kept. So far, we’ve ducked under fallen trees and the rocks that have always littered the path are boulders not pebbles. We’ve spent a great deal of time therefore looking at our feet, reminding us of that Indiana Jones movie line that says that “only the penitent man may pass”.

When we left Santiago we felt like Camino pros, looking forward to the next 25 km, our legs anxious to get going again, but as the day wore on, we became physically and emotionally wrecked. Before arriving in Spain, we had practiced going up and down a steep hills, judging the steepness of the maximum hill by our John Brierly guidebook. What we had not anticipated or encountered before was a hill that was not so much steep, as it never seemed to end. Every time we rounded a corner thinking we’d finally reached the zenith we’d only found more hill. Our legs wore out taking our hearts with them.

I personally grew angrier and angrier as I continued to climb the hill. My thoughts going from “will this hill ever end?” to “why did I ever agree to go to Finisterre?, then to “why did I even want to do this walk?” and finally to “why God had taken our beautiful boy!” I was sobbing by the time I reached the top and with no one else to be angry at, I blamed my husband for failing to warn me about the length of the hill. So I left him, nearly sprinting down hill as quickly as I could.. As I reached the bottom, furiously wiping the tears from my eyes, I came upon an “ass” in an open field, eating grass, minding his own business. I could have sworn that in that moment, the rain clouds parted and the sun illuminated the donkey as though God was saying “stop being such an ass”. Even angrier, I gained speed. I was galloping now, trying to leave my grief behind. I stopped only when I arrived at a medieval bridge over an expansive river, the water rushing underneath, mirroring my own fury. I softened just a little, thinking how literal God could be when he is trying to communicate. I sat and waited for my husband, my sobs being carried away by the current.

My husband came along a few minutes later, he’d been wrestling with his own pains, one in his heart and one in his leg having pulled a muscle trying to catch up to me. I did not need to apologize, he said, he understood and felt the same. He was only worried that I’d get lost or be kidnapped by the truck that kept driving back and forth. I apologized anyway and the thought of a scrawny little man trying to push me, amazon woman, into a truck with all my gear, as furious as I was made us laugh. We were still laughing when he asked if I’d noticed the “ass” along the road, informing me that he’d taken a picture of it just in case (God still trying to make a point). The bridge loomed before us, like the rest of our lives without Gus. If we were going to make it, we’d need to cross the bridge of grief together. We collected the pieces of our heart, stuffing them into our pockets with the hope of piecing it back together later and crossed the bridge.

Leaving Santiago

Starting up the hill

Still going up.

The ass.

Crossing over.

Arrived!

Our Camino – Taking a break – April 7, 2014

Posted on June 16, 2014 by curibe2014

St. James the Moorslayer

We took a pause from our walk, to “walk” around Santiago for a day and smell the proverbial flowers. We spent most of the day at the city’s Cathedral, an imposing Romanesque structure finished in the early 1200s. According to legend, St. James preached in Galicia before returning to Jerusalem where he was martyred in 44 AD. His disciples then retrieved his body, returning it to Galicia for burial. Due to the Roman’s persecution of Christians, the exact location of his tomb was forgotten until in 814 AD, the hermit Pelagius, saw “strange lights in the sky” and for whatever reason connected them to the remains of St. James. The pilgrimage to his shrine is now over 1,000 years old.

The major symbol of the Camino is the scallop shell. Like other pilgrims, we’ve been carrying a shell on our backpacks as we follow the scallop shell markers along the route. Although the shell’s symbolic history is rooted in the legends surrounding the return of St. James body to Galicia, it is probably best seen as a metaphor for the journey itself. As the grooves of the shell meet at a single point, so do the many paths pilgrims take that ultimately converge at Santiago de Compostela.

We attended the Pilgrims Mass, where we were announced as “two from the United States starting in Sarria” and got to see the Botafumeiro in action. We did a little shopping, took some pictures around town, and stuffed ourselves silly with the unending supply of bread, cheese and wine (especially wine from the Ribeiro Sacra region). One of the most curious aspects of Galicia was that the sun did not set until well after 9 pm and that therefore people did not venture out for dinner until well after 10 pm. Curious about this, my husband did a little research and discovered that Spain never went back to its “natural” (solar) time zone after WWII, accounting for the “unusual” schedule.

Our journey continues tomorrow.

A typical street – a la Instagram

Tunnel into the Cathedral Plaza

Is this Cervantes too?

The Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela

The Cathedral Plaza

Our Camino – Arriving in Santiago – April 6, 2013

Posted on June 13, 2014 by curibe2014

Santiago here we come.

The excitement of arriving in Santiago that day got us up early. We stuffed and strapped on our packs quicker than usual, getting on the road well before 9 am. The steady downpour that had characterized our walk since the start was replaced by a clear sky, the sun smiling upon us as we prodded along. Pilgrims who once chattered along incessantly, grew silent, uttering the “Buen Camino” greeting only when absolutely necessary. We were carried along by a cool breeze that rustled the trees softly making it sound as though they were applauding. We covered a full 10 km in two hours, we were no longer walking but running. At that pace we’d be in Santiago in two more hours.

Just outside of the city, we reached an imposing monument that mirrored the enormity of the journey, while we might have only been walking for five days, some had been walking for almost forty, others even longer. From our vantage point we could just make out the tops of the Cathedral’s spires in the distance, they were waving at us to hurry.

For once John Brierly was right, walking on paved roads is much more tiring than walking on dirt even when that dirt is sludge, and those last five kilometers exhausted us more than the one hundred five kilometers that preceded them. Our feet grew heavier with each step and we thought seriously about by-passing the grand entry to the Cathedral for the comfort of our hotel bed, but just then, the spires re-appeared from behind the buildings, encouraging us to keep going. When we finally emerged onto the plaza, we just stood there, incapable of thinking, talking, or even crying alternating between staring at the church, each other and even our feet. Had we really just walked here?

We were still standing there, when a small group of french girls (more women) led by their teacher came up to us looking for an interview. “Were we pilgrims?” They asked, practicing their English. We said “Yes”. “Can we interview you?” they continued. We hesitated, wondering what we’d say looking at each other. We mumbled, “yes”. First question, “Why are you walking?” Since landing in Madrid, despite the number of people we’d met and chatted with along the road or over dinner, not once had we mentioned why we were walking. We took great pains to wait until others passed before attaching our Gus crosses or leaving our Gus prayer cards. We did not want to cause others pain or illicit any kind of pity. We were survivors, lucky to have had Gus, to be in Spain and have each other. There were other pilgrims in the plaza, yet the group of students had made a bee line for us, in that moment it was clear that “these” people were not asking the question for themselves but asking the question for God himself. So we answered God, saying “We walked for Gus”, while handing over a Gus cross and prayer card, no further explanation necessary.

Our feet no longer hurt or we forgot they hurt, so we continued on to the Pilgrim Office to request our Compostela. We presented our passport, filled with more than the necessary amount of stamps and were questioned. “What was the purpose of your Camino, cultural, historic, or spiritual?” Spiritual we answered in unison. Before leaving the Pilgrim Office with our Compostela in hand, we left a rock in a basket hung for that purpose over the stairs, it read Wito, Nana and GUS.

Next stop the “End of the World”.

A cool sunny day along the Camino.

The Church is just a little further now.

We made it! – Cathedral Santiago de Compostela

Pilgrims Passport

One of our Compostelas

Our Love Rock at the Pilgrim’s Office

Our Camino – Arzua to Rua – April 5, 2013

Posted on June 12, 2014 by curibe2014

Everywhere I look – Mothers and Sons

The walk from Arzua to Rua was 20Km, just one kilometer more than what JB advised in his guidebook but we cursed him anyway. A kilometer IS a kilometer. The distances between our stops have shortened from the original 25 kilometers to only between 15 or 20 now, but it feels the same or our pace has slowed. Perhaps we just don’t really want to get there. Either way the last 5 kilometers reduced us to petulant children, repeating every few steps, “are we there yet?”

We joined up with a large group of pilgrims and then collectively cursed JB as we all practically barged into a random Spaniard’s home having taking a wrong turn along the road. To be fair, it was not JB’s fault, we all just missed the marker clearly visible below the cold beer sign (HELLOOO) but he seemed like a reasonable target for our exhaustion. We came across memorials for fallen pilgrims along the route or for those in whose name someone else was walking. We left Gus’ prayer card or his cross in their care as often as we could.

The teenagers we’d seen yesterday was even more impressive today as we met up with them only to discover that the group had only ever consisted of six women and the three young men in wheelchairs. Their chaperone told me that the men we’d seen with them the day before had materialized then like every other time they were in most need of upper body strength, to carry the wheelchair across a swollen creek or to help push them up a particularly steep hill especially because one of the wheels had broken. So it was our turn to help them for a while. We’d just happened to catch up with them at the foot of another steep hill.

We practiced being cute, holding hands and taking our picture while we walked down the hill (it only took five tries). Santiago is just another 20km away!

Holding Hands

Along the Camino

Adding Gus to a shrine

A Gus cross at another shrine

Remembering a fellow pilgrim

Our Camino – Melide to Arzua – April 4, 2013

Image

The walk from Melide to Arzua was “short” considering the number of kilometers we’d been logging per day. It was only 15 km or 9.3 miles, but it was up and down hills most of the way. The challenge was not just physical but emotional. We had taken it easy that morning, savoring the thick and foamy hot chocolate and crunchy churros as though they were our last meal. We’d left at 10 am, in good spirits, eager to finish the day’s walk.

To get the “Compostela” (the official document acknowledging our walk), when we arrived in Santiago now just two days away, we’d have to prove that we’d walked at least 100 kilometers by getting at least two stamps per day at hotels, cafes or other official stops along the way. Paul had turned this minimum requirement into a maximum challenge stopping at every opportunity to get a stamp. The first opportunity that day presented itself almost immediately.

There was a poster along the fence with pictures of one man’s journey from Santiago Chile to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. The feat was impressive enough until you realized that the man had only one leg and that had he’d pedaled or walked for nearly a year. I was translating the captions when we noticed that the man in the pictures was standing behind us and that he had a stamp, he was an official stop along the Camino. He explained to us that he walked the world for charity, a campaign of “smiles” he called it and that is when the tears began. Gus’ prayer card says “Smile, I am fine” because that is what he always told us when we lost our composure in his presence. We asked how we could help and he informed us that all he asked for was 5 Euros for charity. We gave him 10, a Gus prayer card and a Gus cross. We all cried and finally left.

Further along, still wiping the tears from our eyes, we came to a little Church where the priest stood by all day just to stamp pilgrim passports. He asked us if we were married, we said yes. He inquired about the number of “tesoros”, treasures (children), I reflexively said three then corrected myself to two. He looked at us as though we could not count so we had to tell him that it was that we’d just lost one to cancer. We gave him a prayer card that he tacked onto the wall. We left sobbing some more.

As we were getting closer to Arzua, we took break at a cafe as much to rest our hearts as our feet and of course to get another stamp, when a large group of teenagers passed by pushing three wheelchairs, the young men strapped in clearly afflicted by cerebral palsy. The young men were covered with plastic bags and ponchos, the rest of the group was muddy and wet, you could tell they’d had to carry their friends over the rocks and mud that characterized the road that day. I cried some more, thinking that while we mourned our loss, we’d been privileged to witness such courage and strength. We arrived in Arzua more exhausted than ever before, our hearts bursting with pain and love.