Finding the Way at the Very End- Camino de Santiago Part 2

This is the personal narrative I wrote in 6th grade this year and it largely represents my Camino experience this year while walking with my mom from Ponferrada to Santiago. I hugely learned that what is one woman´s pleasure is often another one´s pain, but it brought my Mom and I closer and I finished something I committed too. 

Finding the Way at the Very End.

I looked before me, with my legs wobbling back and forth, weary and tired from the 205 km we had walked in a week. The stairs, all 20 of them, appeared monstrous, like a mini- Everest lying in front of me and I hadn´t even hit base camp. In a way, they were laughing at me, grey faced and strong.  I knelt down feeling the cold stone on my knees, it felt like dry ice puncturing my knee caps and pain instantly hit my heart. This was going to be much more difficult than I thought, just like the Camino had been for my Mom.

I looked deep into my Mom´s eyes. She stood, at the top of the steps, staring down at me, with tiredness drawn all over her body and eyes aching for sleep.   As she was waiting for me at the top of the stairs as I lined up behind many pilgrims to enter the grandiose cathedral in Santiago for the daily mass.  I needed to know and understand her tiredness.  I needed to feel all the soreness she had spoke of every time she showed up at the albergue with buckling knees and fatigued eyes.   I wanted to understand how someone can´t have a smile after walking 30 km, because it felt that good for me.  I looked at the stairs and watched the church group bow down to their knees.  They quietly took off their shoes and placed them on their hands and began to climb the 20 or so stairs that laid before them.  I looked at my Mom again.  She saw the glimmer in my eye, the determination that I was going to follow the pilgrims and follow the way.  I knew what I had to do.

        I slowly untied my shoelaces, happy to have my sore feet escape from the trap of sweaty hiking boots.  I knelt down on the first grey, stoney step.  I felt the cold rock cool my body which momentarily gave me relief in the heat of the scorching sun.  2 seconds later, my mom and I met eyes.  She looked at me and realized what I was doing.  I could feel her glance burning a hole in my heart.  I could feel my knees resisting the rock underneath them, beginning to ache from the seconds without moving.  I looked down and began.

        With my shoes in my hands, I made it up the first step.  ´Not that bad,´I thought, my heart fluttering and my eyes glancing upwards, noticing the 19 or so more steps that lay before me.  The man on my left who was two steps above me, quivered with pain.  The woman on my right, had tears forming in her eyes and a face that screamed pain.  She used her coat sleeves to lay down padding every time she went up another step.

        As the seconds past, I began to realize how easy it would have been to climb those stairs normally and how easy it was for me to walk the Camino.  But that was just it, the Camino wasn´t supposed to be easy.  In fact, it was supposed to be something that challenged you every day, every hour, every minute.  With my next step, my body pinched itself, I gasped, feeling the guilt run through my body into my knees and slamming against the cold stone.

Once more, I gazed at my mom and tears began to form in her eyes.  When I saw the tears flowing freely out of her eyes, I felt sadness boiling up inside of me  and the tears rushed out of my eyes.  With each step, I breathed in deeper breaths, because each step didn´t get easier.  It was completely the opposite, each step came upon me like a fire breathing dragon that got it´s defense by roaring on your knees. With the excruciating pain, I felt lifting my sweaty legs off the lower step, I raised my knees to the next step and to the next step, sucking in air, each time I reached the step and could breath for 5 seconds before moving onto the pain of standing in one place for too long.

        My mom took a long glance at me.  Her tears gave me strength.  Her tears made me know that she knew. I wanted to understand what she had gone through.  I wanted to let her know that this was her Camino and I was there for her.

        I made it through the middle stairs rapidly with her weak smiles and the powerful raindrops falling gently off her face.  Reaching the platform, I let out a “aghhhw!” piggish noise.  My knees now layered with pebbles dug deeply into my epidermis, pressing against the stone simultaneously, feeling a frog in my throat as I tried to swallow.

        The woman next to me with tiredness singing from her eyes, said “No puedo.”

        I got next to her and said “Te ayudo?” and she shooed me away like a fly.

        I remembered the journey is only your journey and you must get there independently.

        I looked at the last 8 steps.  My mom, in her florescent yellow jacket, blue shorts and pink sweater was waiting for me, silently cheering me on.  “Oh Boo.” she mouthed the words to me, my nickname, and I think she got it. I slowly climbed up, checking on the troubled lady behind me, but simultaneously, looking forward towards my mom and the liberty of standing.  And finally, there it was the last step, looking at me in the face, smiling at me at eye level, laughing at my knees 4 steps below.  ´No sweat´ I thought my hands swimming in my sweaty shoes and my knees wobbly moving from left to right to minimize the pain.

I reached the final step and pushed myself up, as my knees flexed back and forth, side to side.  My mom rushed up to me between where she watched and the last step.  Tears streamed down her face and contagiously, formed in my own eyes. ´I know it was hard´I said silently, wearing my apology in my face, my eyes glistening with salty tears.  She squeezed my hand and leaned forward to hug me.  To me, those were her unspoken words, ´Now, I know you understand.´