Second Stage Defined
Ruta Dragonte
Camino Frances 2019
I bought my Osprey pack in 2018, and left the tags on. Just in case. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to walk the Camino Frances. It was more that I didn’t trust life to give me the opportunity to walk.
The year 2013 was the final in a 26 year marriage, and a 4 year high-conflict separation and divorce. The years 2013 to 2015 were years lost in contempt of court charges, therapy, moving into a different home, picking my four children up off the floor, clawing myself back into the work force, and a misguided attempt to litigate someone into showing up as a parent. High conflict divorce is a lot like a car crash where the airbags all deploy - you might walk away from it without a lot of blood, but the internal injuries aren’t as easy to spot. In 2015, my doctor told me he appreciated my point of view that the world (my teenage girls) couldn’t manage without me, but I needed to go to the hospital. Antibiotics weren’t taking care of the pneumonia I’d been fighting for three weeks; my immune system was non-existent and he wasn’t sure I could fight it off without heavier hitting medication. After an astute ER doctor ordered some tests, he returned to my room and told me I’d be having open heart surgery immediately. It wasn’t pneumonia - it was subacute bacterial endocarditis, brought about by an immune system that had decided to take a holiday after years of stress.
My two just-barely adult sons and two high school daughters were with me all morning. I had updated my will immediately after my divorce, so I had some comfort knowing funds were set aside for my oldest to take care of his sisters, if it should come to that. I laughed with them about my only regret being that I hadn’t bought that Audi I’d always dreamed of, a somewhat lame attempt on my part to lighten the mood. I also remember joking with the anesthesiologist when I was wheeled into the operating room. He was perusing a huge book as he lounged near a massive machine he’d use to monitor my condition during surgery. “Please tell me you’re not just now reading the manual?” I asked. We both laughed. After I’d been brought back from recovery, a cardiac nurse asked where my pain level was, somewhere between one and ten? “Twenty,” I whispered. I don’t remember this, but it stands to reason that being sawed open is a new level of discomfort.
A week after I returned home, I noticed a tarp had blown off the hay near the barn. I shuffled outside, and slowly bent over to pick it up. It had puddles of water on it, making it just a bit cumbersome. I couldn’t lift it. Me, the mom who unloaded the saddles at horse shows, carried bags of feed, moved bales of hay. Me, the mom who ran back and forth to the trailer for a lost glove or sparkly pair of earrings to set off a western outfit. The mom who joked with her girls about how lucky they were that she was so healthy. I went back into my house, walked into my bathroom, and opened my shirt. I took a long look at the tape that was beginning to lift off the stitches. If blood ties and reason can’t make someone show up to be a parent, will dying accomplish it? I had to finally admit to myself, and accept, that I was the only one who would show up. There are a lot of women out there just like me, doing it with far fewer resources in their hands.
Second stage begins now.
On June 3rd, 2019, I stood at the highest point of The Ruta Dragonte, an alternate path out of Villafranca del Bierzo. I walked alone that day, up and over three steep peaks and through row upon row of old chestnut trees. I thought back to that moment when I was unable to pick up something weighing less than a pound, only 4 years earlier. Here I was, standing at the top of one of the most difficult alternate points on the Camino Frances. Here I was, walking across a country. I had four children who loved me, who I fought for and raised, and who were cheering me on. I had a heart, not perfect, but still working.
This is what the Camino is to me. An imperfect body, person, life, showing up and doing something magnificent. It gives us the opportunity to to test ourselves, to find what we’re capable of, to fail and to come back and try again. I have walked several other Caminos after that first one, but no moment stands out more than that one on top of that peak. Second stage, second chance, second beginning.
And yes, I finally bought the Audi.
