RoryGentry
Follow me!!! (Where are we, anyway?)
- Time of past OR future Camino
- Burgos to Santiago, Sept. 16-Oct. 3, 2013
Santiago to Finisterre to Muxia to Santiago, April 2014
When I started the camino, I didn't know why I was there. I'd been planning this trip with friends for months, but the "purpose" behind doing it had escaped me. I had to explain to people what the camino was many times during my preparation- a religious pilgrimage for some, sport for others, etc. I would regularly get the question, "Why are you doing it?" My stock answer became, "I don't know. I'll find out when I get there."
My friends started in St. Jean, but having less time away from work, I met them at Burgos to start my camino with them. We stepped off on September 16, 2013. After the first couple of days of hiking, I started getting into "reflective mode." Thinking about life, what I was doing, etc. I came to terms with a few things that had been on my mind, and started to think that I was discovering what my camino was about. Within a couple of days, that would all change.
On September 20, 2013, we were sitting in a small bar waiting to catch a bus to Leon. I had severely twisted my ankle and another member of our 3-person party was pretty sick, so we decided to get to a city where we would have better resources and take a couple of days to recuperate. I had picked up a Vodaphone SIM card for my phone that was pretty much worthless, and I rarely had a decent connection. I pulled out my phone and saw a notification on the screen. My sister had apparently been trying to reach me, and had to resort to using Facebook for messages. I only saw the most recent notification on the screen.
"Rod did not make it. I'm sorry. Thought you would want to know."
WHAT? As quickly as that thought raced through my mind, it was followed by another. I knew what must have happened.
I've been a police officer for 18 years, and Rod (my niece's husband) had been a police officer for nearly 6 years. I knew something had gone terribly wrong. I tried to check the rest of my messages, but couldn't get a decent signal. I went to the bartender and asked for the WiFi password. As soon as I put it in and had a connection, messages began flooding my phone. I was basically reading them in reverse chronological order. The bottom line was that Rod had been responding to a domestic call, and had been shot and killed. My friends had no idea what I was reading. We had all been chatting with some new pilgrim friends when I received the first message, and they might not have even noticed when I got up from the table. In a state of shock I walked back to the table and laid my phone down in front of my friends so they could see the message. I broke down, and walked away. After wandering around for a few minutes I returned to the table, where my friends did their best to console me. I started wondering how and when I would need to get home, and what needed to be done. I sent a message back to my sister and told her to send me one big update when the facts were more clear. The day was lost, and my spirit was crushed. It's tough being thousands of miles from your family at a time like that, even though my friends did their best to comfort me.
A day later I received the update from my sister. To my surprise, she said that the family had all met for a dinner to start making necessary plans for the funeral. They discussed my situation, and everyone decided that I should continue the camino as a memorial to Rod. After some soul searching and deep thought, I decided they were right. I would do my best to find a way to memorialize him, although I wasn't sure what to do.
Fortunately, we were in Leon and I was able to find some supplies. I found a sleeveless flourescent yellow shirt, some markers, and a pad of paper. I was able to bunch up the shoulders of the shirt and run carabiners through each side, and it hung perfectly over the back of my pack, like a cape. Using the pad of paper, I laid out a simple design that I could trace onto the shirt with markers.
When I looked at it, it seemed too simple... but what else could I do? The next morning I put the makeshift memorial flag on my pack, and we started making our way out of Leon.
The first person to ask "who is Rod" happened to be a retired police officer. I had not yet met any other police officers on the camino, so it was almost a blessing that the first person to ask would be another cop. He understood the loss of a family member, and a police officer. It was really comforting, and looking back on it now, it was kind of a profound experience.
So, I began walking the camino, hoping that people would notice the shirt. I was told several times that it was hard NOT to notice the big flourescent banner that was hanging from my pack- it was visible from quite a distance. LOL
Fast forward to September 24. We had stopped at Monte Irago in Foncebadon so that we would reach the Cruz de Ferro very early the next morning. We started off just before daybreak. I was concentrating so much on watching my step and protecting my injured ankle that I was missing the beautiful sunrise. I found a nice sized flat rock along the trail, and decided it would be a good one to write a memorial message on. As I carried it up the road with me, I kept looking down at Rod's name on the stone. Hard to believe he was gone. Since I wasn't with family and didn't know all of the facts about what had happened, I was really lacking perspective and closure. I was hoping that my visit to the Cruz de Ferro would act as my own personal "memorial service," and ease my mind a bit.
As I walked along the rock-strewn path (still trying to protect my ankle from further injury), I would occasionally look at Rod's name again on the stone. As I looked down at the pathway, I suddenly saw a large message that a pilgrim had spelled out with sticks and stones:
At that moment, I felt like that message had been written just for me. My eyes teared up as I stared at it for a long moment. I decided that I needed to keep moving to reach the cross, so I looked down the path for the first time in a while... but instead of the path ahead of me, I saw a small hill... with a tall pole... and an iron cross on top. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts about Rod and watching the trail that I did not even realize I had arrived. The timing was almost shocking, and my eyes immediately teared up again.
We were there very early, so there were not many other pilgrims around. My friends took their turns climbing the hill, dropping their stones, and taking their pictures. I wasn't quite ready yet. I was actually a little bit overwhelmed at how this had just unfolded, and needed a few minutes to think. When I was ready, I made my slow walk up the hill to the base of the cross. I knelt down, and placed my stone at the base of the cross. I placed my hand on the post, said a prayer, and wept like a baby. It was the first time I had really been able to "let it all out." It was an important moment for me, as I knew this would be the closest thing to a "memorial service" that I would have. Although I was several thousand miles from my family, for a moment, I felt like I was not alone.
The few pilgrims who were there stood back respectfully, and gave me several minutes alone at the top of the hill. I had left my pack near the fence, so I'm sure they had seen my flag, put 2 + 2 together, and understood the situation. As I came down the hill, two pilgrims silently hugged me and patted me on the back. I felt a tremendous sense of relief. (My friends had been taking photos of me while I was on the hill.) I watched as another pilgrim went to the top of the hill, and I could see that he was reading the large stone I had carried up there. I watched as he silently touched the stone and bowed his head, as if he was saying a prayer.
A day later I was contacted by a friend who works for a local TV news station. He had been following my Facebook updates, and knew that Rod was a member of my family. He asked if I would be willing to do a telephone interview about the camino and my memorial, and I agreed. He pulled some photos from my Facebook page and had one of the reporters call me. They didn't use the sound bites that I thought were the best, and the reporter made it sound a little bit cheesy (in my opinion), but my friends all seemed to think it was well done.
This link is a general story about Rod's death:
http://www.theindychannel.com/news/local-news/community-pays-respects-to-officer-rod-bradway-during-visitation
This link is the interview I did:
http://www.theindychannel.com/news/local-news/on-pilgrimage-remembering-rod-bradway
Thanks for listening/ reading. I didn't intend to ramble on so much, but I wanted to tell the whole story. If you ae one of the pilgrims I met along the way who offered kind words, prayers, and support, you have my eternal gratitude.
My friends started in St. Jean, but having less time away from work, I met them at Burgos to start my camino with them. We stepped off on September 16, 2013. After the first couple of days of hiking, I started getting into "reflective mode." Thinking about life, what I was doing, etc. I came to terms with a few things that had been on my mind, and started to think that I was discovering what my camino was about. Within a couple of days, that would all change.
On September 20, 2013, we were sitting in a small bar waiting to catch a bus to Leon. I had severely twisted my ankle and another member of our 3-person party was pretty sick, so we decided to get to a city where we would have better resources and take a couple of days to recuperate. I had picked up a Vodaphone SIM card for my phone that was pretty much worthless, and I rarely had a decent connection. I pulled out my phone and saw a notification on the screen. My sister had apparently been trying to reach me, and had to resort to using Facebook for messages. I only saw the most recent notification on the screen.
"Rod did not make it. I'm sorry. Thought you would want to know."
WHAT? As quickly as that thought raced through my mind, it was followed by another. I knew what must have happened.
I've been a police officer for 18 years, and Rod (my niece's husband) had been a police officer for nearly 6 years. I knew something had gone terribly wrong. I tried to check the rest of my messages, but couldn't get a decent signal. I went to the bartender and asked for the WiFi password. As soon as I put it in and had a connection, messages began flooding my phone. I was basically reading them in reverse chronological order. The bottom line was that Rod had been responding to a domestic call, and had been shot and killed. My friends had no idea what I was reading. We had all been chatting with some new pilgrim friends when I received the first message, and they might not have even noticed when I got up from the table. In a state of shock I walked back to the table and laid my phone down in front of my friends so they could see the message. I broke down, and walked away. After wandering around for a few minutes I returned to the table, where my friends did their best to console me. I started wondering how and when I would need to get home, and what needed to be done. I sent a message back to my sister and told her to send me one big update when the facts were more clear. The day was lost, and my spirit was crushed. It's tough being thousands of miles from your family at a time like that, even though my friends did their best to comfort me.
A day later I received the update from my sister. To my surprise, she said that the family had all met for a dinner to start making necessary plans for the funeral. They discussed my situation, and everyone decided that I should continue the camino as a memorial to Rod. After some soul searching and deep thought, I decided they were right. I would do my best to find a way to memorialize him, although I wasn't sure what to do.
Fortunately, we were in Leon and I was able to find some supplies. I found a sleeveless flourescent yellow shirt, some markers, and a pad of paper. I was able to bunch up the shoulders of the shirt and run carabiners through each side, and it hung perfectly over the back of my pack, like a cape. Using the pad of paper, I laid out a simple design that I could trace onto the shirt with markers.
When I looked at it, it seemed too simple... but what else could I do? The next morning I put the makeshift memorial flag on my pack, and we started making our way out of Leon.
The first person to ask "who is Rod" happened to be a retired police officer. I had not yet met any other police officers on the camino, so it was almost a blessing that the first person to ask would be another cop. He understood the loss of a family member, and a police officer. It was really comforting, and looking back on it now, it was kind of a profound experience.
So, I began walking the camino, hoping that people would notice the shirt. I was told several times that it was hard NOT to notice the big flourescent banner that was hanging from my pack- it was visible from quite a distance. LOL
Fast forward to September 24. We had stopped at Monte Irago in Foncebadon so that we would reach the Cruz de Ferro very early the next morning. We started off just before daybreak. I was concentrating so much on watching my step and protecting my injured ankle that I was missing the beautiful sunrise. I found a nice sized flat rock along the trail, and decided it would be a good one to write a memorial message on. As I carried it up the road with me, I kept looking down at Rod's name on the stone. Hard to believe he was gone. Since I wasn't with family and didn't know all of the facts about what had happened, I was really lacking perspective and closure. I was hoping that my visit to the Cruz de Ferro would act as my own personal "memorial service," and ease my mind a bit.
As I walked along the rock-strewn path (still trying to protect my ankle from further injury), I would occasionally look at Rod's name again on the stone. As I looked down at the pathway, I suddenly saw a large message that a pilgrim had spelled out with sticks and stones:
At that moment, I felt like that message had been written just for me. My eyes teared up as I stared at it for a long moment. I decided that I needed to keep moving to reach the cross, so I looked down the path for the first time in a while... but instead of the path ahead of me, I saw a small hill... with a tall pole... and an iron cross on top. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts about Rod and watching the trail that I did not even realize I had arrived. The timing was almost shocking, and my eyes immediately teared up again.
We were there very early, so there were not many other pilgrims around. My friends took their turns climbing the hill, dropping their stones, and taking their pictures. I wasn't quite ready yet. I was actually a little bit overwhelmed at how this had just unfolded, and needed a few minutes to think. When I was ready, I made my slow walk up the hill to the base of the cross. I knelt down, and placed my stone at the base of the cross. I placed my hand on the post, said a prayer, and wept like a baby. It was the first time I had really been able to "let it all out." It was an important moment for me, as I knew this would be the closest thing to a "memorial service" that I would have. Although I was several thousand miles from my family, for a moment, I felt like I was not alone.
The few pilgrims who were there stood back respectfully, and gave me several minutes alone at the top of the hill. I had left my pack near the fence, so I'm sure they had seen my flag, put 2 + 2 together, and understood the situation. As I came down the hill, two pilgrims silently hugged me and patted me on the back. I felt a tremendous sense of relief. (My friends had been taking photos of me while I was on the hill.) I watched as another pilgrim went to the top of the hill, and I could see that he was reading the large stone I had carried up there. I watched as he silently touched the stone and bowed his head, as if he was saying a prayer.
A day later I was contacted by a friend who works for a local TV news station. He had been following my Facebook updates, and knew that Rod was a member of my family. He asked if I would be willing to do a telephone interview about the camino and my memorial, and I agreed. He pulled some photos from my Facebook page and had one of the reporters call me. They didn't use the sound bites that I thought were the best, and the reporter made it sound a little bit cheesy (in my opinion), but my friends all seemed to think it was well done.
This link is a general story about Rod's death:
http://www.theindychannel.com/news/local-news/community-pays-respects-to-officer-rod-bradway-during-visitation
This link is the interview I did:
http://www.theindychannel.com/news/local-news/on-pilgrimage-remembering-rod-bradway
Thanks for listening/ reading. I didn't intend to ramble on so much, but I wanted to tell the whole story. If you ae one of the pilgrims I met along the way who offered kind words, prayers, and support, you have my eternal gratitude.
