Surrendering to My Grief One Step at a Time
Photo by Sarah Burm
Grief has been a journey best travelled on foot for me. Walking helped me navigate through my mother’s unexpected illness and eventual death in 2021. Often, I strolled through the neighbouring streets of the hospice where my mom spent her last months, seeking solace from the looming reality of her impending death. The day I received the call of her passing, my husband suggested a walk in one of my favourite urban parks. Unsure of what else to do, I laced up my shoes and mustered the energy to put one foot in front of the other.
I continued to walk the next day, and the day after that, trying to understand what it meant to live life without my mom. In the weeks and months that followed, I walked on the beach, through forests, along winding gravel paths and up steep mountain trails. Sometimes my walks were short pursuits; other times, they were lengthier treks on more technical terrain that, while physically challenging, allowed me, if only for a short time, to take my mind off the huge void in my life. Oftentimes I would walk in the company of others – my husband or friends; but, on those days when my grief felt all-consuming, I walked alone.
As the one-year mark of my mother’s passing approached, my husband and I planned a trip to Spain to walk the Camino Frances, the most popular of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage routes. This well-travelled pathway, spanning roughly 800 km, leads walkers from St. Jean Pied-de-Port, France to the Spanish city of Santiago de Compostela. Many are drawn to the Camino for its transformative potential and its promise of physical and spiritual renewal. For me, walking the Camino was less of a pilgrimage, and more an opportunity to rest my tired body and mind. I know that might sound ironic, but after spending so much of the past year resisting the grieving process, I realized I needed to create space to explore my grief. Walking the Camino gave me permission to do just that: to surrender to my grief and focus on my inner world.
For three weeks, I was able to leave behind life’s demands and simply walk. It was interesting to observe my thoughts while walking. The physical effort, especially during the first few days, left me questioning the decision to spend our vacation this way. Yet, I continued to walk. As the anniversary of my mother’s death drew near, the noise in my head and the pain in my heart intensified, making walking feel arduous at times. There were moments, sometimes entire days, where I struggled to be present. On these days, I was distracted by the ruminating thoughts that would surface:
I can’t remember the sound of her voice.
I should have spent more time with her.
She must have been so disappointed that I wasn’t at her bedside during those final days.
I shouldn’t be this sad anymore.
I miss her.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
I miss her.
I miss her.
There were other days during which I was able to bask in the beauty of my surroundings. We walked through rolling farmland and vineyards, with magnificent churches, fields of poppies, and fragrant lilac bushes - mom’s favourite - adorning our paths daily. We wandered in and out of small villages and large cities, taking time to indulge in the scenery, the food, and the culture of the places we visited. On those days, the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other was an expression of gratitude. I felt so alive, the Camino creating space for me to breathe, to remember, and, finally, find some peace. Walking didn’t completely alleviate the guilt and anger I had been harboring over the last year, but it certainly made these emotions more manageable. With each step, the intensity of my emotions gradually dissipated, and I found myself beginning to reflect not only my mother’s death, but also on her life and all that she meant to me.
Walking continues to be a therapeutic outlet for me, enabling me to get out of my head and set my grief in motion. This spring, my husband and I completed another Camino, this time the Portuguese Way where we walked 250 km from Porto, Portugal to Santiago de Compostela over the span of 12 days. Although I wasn’t as engulfed in grief as I was during my first Camino journey, thoughts of my mom frequently crossed my mind. Now, I like to believe that I walk for both of us.
