Just before Christmas, I started fiddling around with the idea of creating a graphic novel memoir about Dad. I found this panel (done in Procreate) while I was searching around for some early Camino notes (because the Camino experience will definitely need to be included). This was probably done on the first or second day after I had this graphic novel brainwave (most likely in the shower - that’s where my wildest ideas generally catch up with me).
Today in my sketchbook, I did another version of this same idea.
I am not sure how I would rate the ‘progress’ that’s been made over the past couple of months. Poor Dad, I’ve done better versions of him in the interim - not quite sure how things went so terribly wrong with his hat and face… And all of us need to visit a podiatrist. Or whoever it is who fixes feet.
That’s all beside the point. What is true is this - in about 2015 (coincidentally the year in which I finally left home… probably worth an episode in the telling of our story - or, maybe a whole book - it involves a lot of unexpected twists and turns, the deaths of a lot of turkeys - literally - a mountain-climber called Fabio - a sailing trip in the Caribbean, some other weird stuff… But, I digress.) Anyway, at about this time, Dad started sliding into a bit of a funk. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a meaty project into which to sink his artistic teeth.
This is the point at which I received a call from my daughter, Dani who had stepped into the caregiver role when I abandoned ship and fled to another province.
“I’m worried about Grampy,” she said. “He needs a project. A big trip to look forward to. Or he’s going to give up.”
This was alarming. But I know Dani well enough to know she is always a step ahead in the scheming and dreaming department. “Did you have something in mind?” I asked.
“I was thinking the three of us should go to Spain and walk the Camino. Well, at least part of it.”
“Do you think he’s well enough?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. This pause should have been enough to put a stop to the whole ludicrous plan before we bought plane tickets, heaved packs on our backs, and nearly killed the poor man.
Yes, there are some 82-year-olds who are hale and hearty and could handle a strenuous walk, but Dad was not one of them. Even at that time, he was huffing and puffing and struggling to make it up a flight of stairs.
I was due for a trip out to the coast to visit so we decided to gently broach the subject and see what he thought when we were all together.
Dani eased into the topic by suggesting we could do the last leg of the Camino Frances - from Sarria to Santiago, about 120 or so kilometers. My father dryly remarked, “That might very well be my last leg.” Followed quickly by, “Let’s do it.” Followed by, “We could write a book and I could paint a show…”
Long story short, the idea of a big adventure served its purpose in spades. Dad started going to physio, experimented with new inhalers (hoping to keep his worsening COPD at bay), and cracked open a new sketchbook. He bought hiking socks and a new backpack and watched The Way.
That’s how our Camino began eight months before we all hopped on planes and winged our respective ways to Madrid.
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