It hit me like a wave...

sadness and an overwhelming sense of loss.

I was standing in the middle of the doctors conference room in the Emergency Department, 

laughing with physicians I've known for decades... 

about cases from years ago, 

different situations we'd found ourselves in, 

words and phrases we'd unexpectedly, and unfortunately, said or heard.

Tears were streaming down our faces - 

and in a moment of clarity, 

I realized mine were only partly based in humor.

It occurred to me that, in just a few months, 

the chance to be with these people - 

these funny, bright, sensitive, irreverent, talented, compassionate 

and, at times, totally inappropriate people - 

would be over.

There are so many things about retirement that appeal to me; 

so many things I'll be free to do... 

but there are so many other things I'll miss, 

so many things my daily life is built around now 

that even envisioning how life will be without them is painful to contemplate.

There are times it takes my breath away.

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; 

for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; 

we must die to one life before we can enter another.

Anatol France

Dying and letting go, even symbolically, is a hard process.

There are times it hurts.

A lot.

Proof

So much of my job is thankless… 

there is absolutely nothing to show at the end of the day
for what I’ve done.

I’m not lamenting… 

it’s the nature of the beast called Social Work – 

and much of life,
come to think of it.

Cleaning the house? 

It lasts about a day – 

then you have to do it again.

Doing dishes? 

How is it the dirty ones reproduce so quickly
just sitting on the counter?

Washing/ironing clothes? – 

the minute you take them off at night, 

the process starts again.

Getting your child through a crisis? 

Maybe things slow down while they sleep – 

assuming they do
and you can get some hours of sleep yourself;

then the sun comes up 

and the parenting drama begins again.

This cannot just be MY life… 

surely it’s the reality for many of you as well.

For me,
one of the attractive things about walking the Camino

is that, at the end of it,
 you get something tangible-  

a certificate – 

a Compostela.

The same worded- in- Latin- on- parchment document  

used by the Cathedral in Santiago 

since the medieval ages; 

proof positive that the holder is a bonafide pilgrim!

Upon arriving at your journeys starting point – 

in my case, St Jean - 

you register with the Pilgrim office and are issued a pilgrims passport; 

a folded document you carry with you at all times
since it entitles you to stay in a system of refugios/alberques (hostels).

Pilgrims get their passports ‘stamped’ at refugios 

and other places along the way (Cathedrals, cafes, City Halls etc) 

to document their progress across the country.

(It will also be a wonderful visual souvenir to look at in my old age -
when I’m confined to my scooter chair!)

In order to qualify for the 'Compostela', a pilgrim has to walk,
at least, 

the last 100 kms to Santiago;
that’s 62 miles.

(Yes, I know – 
I’m adding on 440 miles to get there 

and then going 50 miles beyond Santiago 

to the ‘end of the world  at Finisterre; 

I’m an overachiever, what can I say?)

According to the Pilgrim office in May (2013) 

which is the month, 

though obviously not the year 

I’ll be completing MY Camino, 

25,206 people claimed their compostela certificate
at the pilgrims office in Santiago.

46% were women; 54% men

13% were under 30,

 60% were aged 30-60 

and 27% were over 60.

32% were Spanish; 

68% classified as ‘foreigners’ 

(nationalities including 20% Germans, 10% French, 

9% Italians, 9% from UK, 6% Portuguese and 5% Irish.)

20% started in Sarria (a town approx 64 miles from Santiago) 

and 15% started in St Jean Pied de Port.

The rest started somewhere else along the way, 

frequently in Pamplona or Leon.

There are also many more pilgrims who, 

due to time constraints, 

walk only a section of the Camino in a year, 

then come back the next year to do another section. 

There are many more people walking the Camino 

than the number that actually present for the Compostela.

SO, 

for all my loved ones
thinking I’ll be all by myself on the Camino next spring… 

not so much.

While I might be in the minority for age, gender and nationality, 

I certainly won’t be alone!

And, for once,  I'll have proof when I get home!