A Pilgrimage for the Grieving Heart
A couple of months after James died, I felt a calling. A calling to walk.
The Camino de Santiago (an 800 year old Pilgrimage which finishes at the tombstone of Santiago in Santiago de Compostela, Northern Spain) had been in my periphery for some years and when it dawned on me that Santiago translates as Saint James in English, I booked my transport to Saint Jean Pied du Port in the Pyrenees to embark on the 800km pilgrimage to Santiago.
It felt like the perfect way to honour James’ life.
My little brother and I arrived in Saint Jean - by some divine synchronicity - on the anniversary of my Grandfather James’ passing.
On the eve of our voyage, we met a seasoned pilgrim from Australia who had walked the camino over fifty times. He gave us each a stone which, he said, should symbolize our burdens and he told us to carry the stones until we reached El Cruz de Ferro (the Iron Cross - see in picture at end of post), where we would release them in an energetic act of letting go.
I had also handpicked seven stones from the ocean and painted them - each an offering to leave along the path as part of my own personal ceremony.
We added the stones to our small 40L backpacks containing three pairs of everything; socks, shorts, shirts and a few extra undies, a microfiber towel, a bar of soap/shampoo (which doubled up as laundry detergent), toothpaste, toothbrush, a water bottle and a pilgrim shell. Even this frugal pack felt extremely heavy on our first couple of days but we lost a few items along the way to lessen the load.
At the local church we received a pilgrim’s blessing and I lit a couple of candles for my son and my grandfather. Raw emotion welled up inside me as I asked them both to accompany us on our journey.
We woke up bright and early. I sat in my ritual morning meditation and felt my grandfather’s presence giving me a warm embrace - and then we set off.
The first day was the most gruelling. It was the biggest incline of the entire pilgrimage. 28km up through the majestic French Pyrenees and over into Spain. Cow and horse bells clinked and clanged; resounding through the valleys as we climbed the well trodden mountain. Along the way, we passed many Pilgrims starting their journey and exchanged warm greetings of “Buen Camino!”.
We were blessed with gorgeous weather until we reached the top of the incline and the white mist enclosed us. The last few kilometres was a descent into the first village, Ronces Valles. We couldn’t see ten feet in front of us! Rather unnerving given the sheer drops on either side of the path..
As the rain began to fall and the night drew in, we reached our first Albergue. This was the biggest Albergue on the entire Pilgrimage - it slept around 200 people!! We were exhausted, had achy legs, I had a blister which encased my little toe (despite having worn in my hiking shoes on the many trails of the peak district) and we were hungry. The nearest supermarket was in the next town so we went out for a “pilgrim dinner” instead.
We walked into the cosy, family style restaurant to see tables full of cheerful pilgrims - and suddenly I felt a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. I had hoped that I could just sit at a table with my brother, keep my head down and avoid conversation. I feared the dreaded question, “So, what brought you here?”. I knew this question was inevitable but I didn’t think it would be on the first day!
We were seated at a table with a seventy year old American man and a young German man. They were very friendly and bought a couple of bottles of red to share. The conversation ping-ponged around our table and then; “So, what brings you here?”. The whole table looked at me. Silence. My voice came out cracked, “... M-my son died”. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. The American man replied, “Oh, I’m so sorry… Can I ask, what was his name?”. Relief. “James, his name was James.”. “Well you don’t have to talk about it over dinner but here is my card”. The man happened to be a grief counsellor.. What a beautiful synchronicity.
The following day we hobbled the next leg of the Camino in the rain and continued our journey to Santiago. From then on, we fell into a rhythm. We woke early, dressed, slung our bags over our shoulders, and walked. Through wheatfields, vineyards, across rivers and through quaint Spanish villages. At first, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was deep in my grief and my intention for this walk was an internal journey. To connect with my son and to process his death and my feelings about it - though, I felt the urge to scream, “My son died!!!” so people would know why I didn’t smile. Eventually, I relaxed, opened up. Everyday, faces started to become familiar and it became almost impossible to avoid conversation.
People had come from all over the world. Most were there because of some challenge in their life. Transitioning between jobs, divorce, burn-out, a young couple who had just had a stillborn baby, a family and their blind father. Everyone had a story. It was obvious that people came here to grieve, to escape their ordinary lives, seek answers and to birth a new chapter in their life.
For 800 years Pilgrims have walked hundreds of kilometres (sleeping in monasteries and Albergues along the way) to reach Santiago and the sacred energy woven into this path was ever present.
They say the Camino has three sections. The first third is the body, the second is the mind and the last third is the spirit. I liked this analogy - and indeed it resonated.
The first 230 kilometres my body was in shock. Walking an average of 20 kilometres a day is not something the average twentieth century body is used to. After the first grueling day, I got a diabolical blister on my little toe which rubbed off layers of skin, revealing a red raw stump. In the following days, I over-compensated for the blister and ended up with shin splints!
By the second phase, after many Compede plasters, shin massages and Kinesio tape, my body had made a full recovery and so began the “mind phase”. The mind phase is through an extremely dry, flat region called The Mesetas. The path is straight, long and stretches for miles and miles through vineyards and wheat fields, with barely any trees for reprieve from the blistering hot sun. It is incredibly monotonous and if you don’t control your mind, it will undoubtedly control you!
The last phase was my favourite! We entered Galicia, the mystical, lush green mountains of Northern Spain where bagpipes enchanted the valleys and the goats cheese was to die for! It was clear that Spirit was with us whispering to us through the nature. And if you get really quiet and really listen the magical, ancient trees have wise messages to share!
After thirty days and 800km of walking we suddenly reached Santiago de Compostela and I was overcome with emotion. Everything was about to change, again. The Camino had allowed me to escape reality for a while. It had allowed me to step away from the mundane, from worldly responsibilities, from the harsh reality of the world continuing despite my paralyzing grief - and it allowed me space to process the tragedy of my sons death, to honour his life and reflect on mine.
I went on the Camino, like many other pilgrims, to seek answers. What now? What can I do with my life after my sons death? — and now my pilgrimage had come to an end. This beautiful journey had come to closure and I was going back to reintegrate into the ordinary.
All of a sudden everything felt so raw and I was reflecting deeply on life. Life is, I pondered, — beginnings and endings — endings and beginnings — and after the Camino, I truly felt the dawn of a new chapter without my baby and a new chapter of wisdom, of faith, of resilience and connection to my baby in spirit.
The wisdom from any pilgrimage or spiritual journey will slowly and gradually land in your body over time and it will absolutely change your life.
The energy of the Camino, I will never forget. It’s the kind of Sacred energy that you feel in temples or churches. The energy of spiritual devotion. The energy of thousands of Pilgrims, over many years, walking in devotion to something much greater than them - and this is the wisdom that you can draw upon when you walk the path.
The Camino is a metaphor for life in many ways.
We all walk the path of life with some sense of direction and intent, but we never know what we will encounter along our way.
There will be others - and ancestors - who have walked a similar path and that can be a guide - but the path we each walk is unique.
Our individual paths, at times, converge —then naturally drift apart as our journeys call us onward.
Some people will be there throughout the many phases of our path - and others just parts.
And, no matter which path we are walking, it will always, eventually, lead us home.
If you enjoyed reading this please let me know!
I am thinking to take a small group of people on a walking grief retreat on the Camino de Santiago in July 2026. Let me know if you’d be interested and I will send you more details.
Cruz de Ferro
