Over the Hill ... and on the road: Day 23: Hornillos del Camino

I know exactly what the trigger was...

as we left town, there were chalk drawings on the street -

evidence of children,

even though none of us had seen or heard any kids playing there last night.

Unseen children...

children who were no longer here...

children who had been lost too early...

memories from a 35 year career in pediatrics came flooding back

and I was soon sobbing as I walked.

The weight of sadness literally weighed me down and took my breath away.

I could barely put one foot in front of the other.

The other girls went on ahead

as I fell further and further behind.

I considered trying to outrun the sorrow;

catching up with friends and getting lost in conversations about more trivial things.

I know how to do that.

But I knew intuitively that this was exactly why I had come to Spain;

to exorcise the demons,

to have a safe place and time to give full measure to accumulated sorrow.

I decided to go as slow as I needed to - and let it catch up with me.

The weather ranged from warm - cool - rainy - windy;

the path was wet, uneven and difficult to navigate;

the countryside through which I passed ranged from the Black Hills to Iowa croplands.

And I cried through it all.

When we stopped for a quick orange juice,
there was a TV on over the bar - the first one I had seen in over 3 weeks!
The story was a report about child abuse -
children abused by neighbors,
with their parents full knowledge and consent
Really?

The first news media I've seen in weeks -
and this is what I get?
I marvelled at how you don't even need to know a language to get the drift of an abuse story...

I left feeling like I needed a shower,
exactly how I felt after work
most days.

Since that was impossible, on the way out of town,

I took time to sit in the hermitage of St Bridget,

soaking up holiness and sacred energy,

thinking of other women who had come to her for advice,

for solace -

and it helped.

When we arrived at our albergue,

I lay down after a shower and immediately fell asleep.
Mourning is exhausting.

I woke up 2 hours later -
to find all my friends gone -
out exploring the town, no doubt.
So I got up and went out to find them.

As I walked down the street,
I saw an open door, with candles burning on the thresh-hold,
the scent of incense and baked goods coming from inside
and a note posted on the door, inviting anyone who needed a place of peace to come inside.
A sign outside identified the building as "The Hospital of the Soul".

(Don't you love it when God isn't even subtle?)