An Island Awash With Grief

They say, "your Camino starts the moment you walk out your door."  They may be right.  While waiting for the plane in Ottawa, we spied a man and woman with back packs, and I thought it would be funny if they were peregrinos.  We sat across the aisle from them on the 45 minute flight to Montreal, found out they were returning pilgrims, and they gave us some good hints.  The Camino ... it starts outside your door.

It works for the Camino of the Soul as well.  I guess the best way to describe what I mean by Camino of the Soul is to compare it to the physical.  If in a physical pilgrimage your feet hurt, and your muscles cry for relief, then in a Soul Camino one should expect some measure of spiritual discomfort.

So, that's why I say my Soul Camino started before my actual walk on the Way of Saint James.  Today my soul aches.  In my last post I mentioned the people of Grand Manan.  Most of my readers will know that is the island which I call home.  A small island in the Bay of Fundy on Canada's east coast.  It consists of several small hamlets with a total population of 2500.  Though it is 43 years since I lived there, it is still home. 

And this week my home Is awash in grief.   Literally awash. 

Four weeks ago, the lovely and talented high school valedictorian was killed in a car accident.  Every Grand Mananer, no matter where they lived in the world felt as if a piece of them had died with Danielle.  It mattered not that many of us never met her - we grieved deeply with the family, our family.

Four weeks later life was beginning to feel normal, or at least it felt like the fog might someday lift. But when the people awoke last Saturday, they heard the terrible news of the early morning crash of the local medivac plane.  Klaus, the owner and pilot, an island resident since 1982, lost his life as did Billy, a paramedic and life long resident of "home". "Enough God", the island cried. "How much grief can we take?" But then all too soon it was Sunday, and the news of Nick, another graduate of 2014.  Gone far too soon.

So as I leave Canada for my Camino, my Island is literally awash with grief.  And with them, my Soul struggles in Camino.  

So dear friends of home, I may never breathe your name in verbal prayer, but my feet will ache with you, and pray for you every day.  I wish I could do more, but then so does everyone else ...