Walking with grief in my chest pocket

Mourning in motion

Key moment: I walked because sitting at home made grief feel like a closed fist. Motion offered ventilation—not cure, but air.

1. Milestones hurt: birthdays, anniversaries calculated in kilometres instead of cake. I cried beside hay bales; sheep watched without judgment.

2. Strangers offered hugs I did not know I needed. I learned to say “estoy triste” without apologising. Sadness deserved language.

3. Some days I felt guilty for laughing at a joke; grief policed joy. The trail taught coexistence—mirth and ache sharing a bunk.

Near Santiago, I realised I was not walking away from the person I lost but walking with their echo—stories told to new ears, tears offered to new soil.

If you mourn on pilgrimage, bring tissues and permission. The Camino does not erase; it accompanies. Sometimes that is enough to survive the next stage.

If you mourn on pilgrimage, bring tissues and permission. The Camino does not erase; it accompanies. Sometimes that is enough to survive the next stage.