I have been pretty quiet on social media for the past month or so. That was not an accident.
I didn't post photos or videos of local wildlife. I didn't post about my business or chronicle things that were happening in my orbit like I do. I was hiking the Camino de Santiago... again.
This time, I hiked more than 200 miles from Porto, Portugal, through Spain to Santiago de Compostela, before continuing on to Fisterra. Normally, I would have shared the breathtaking scenery, the charming villages, the funny stories, and probably every complaint about my aching feet. But this time was different.
This wasn't a trip I wanted to document. It was one I wanted to live. Because this story has very little to do with the Camino and everything to do with my youngest son.
As parents, we spend years believing there will always be more time. More conversations. More vacations. More ordinary days together. Then, before we know it, our children grow up, and time starts to look very different.
You wake up one day and realize they don't need you in the same way anymore. They have their own opinions, their own lives, and their own adventures. And if you are lucky, really lucky, they still choose to spend time with you.
That's what this Camino became for me. It wasn't about the miles. And it wasn't about reaching Santiago. It wasn't even about standing at the edge of the world in Fisterra. It became a front-row seat to the man my little boy has become.
Together, we walked side by side. We talked for hours. Sometimes about life. Sometimes about whatever crossed our minds. Sometimes we would walk without saying a word, and somehow those quiet moments said everything.
Along the way, we searched for gooey pastries, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and agua con gas with an urgency only Camino pilgrims understand. We joked about eating our body weight in bread. We celebrated every downhill section as if we had won the lottery. We complained about our aching feet... then laced up our boots and did it all again the next morning.
One evening in Fisterra, we sat below the lighthouse and watched the sun slowly disappear into the Atlantic. It was after 10 pm, yet somehow it felt as though time had decided to stand still for us. We barely spoke. We didn't need to. Some conversations happen with words. The most meaningful ones happen in the quiet, when you are simply grateful to be exactly where you are, with exactly who you are with. I will carry that sunset with me for the rest of my life.
During those three weeks, I realized I wasn't walking with the little boy I used to protect anymore. I was walking beside the calm, thoughtful man he has become.
I will always be his mom, and nothing will ever change that. But somewhere along the line, I became someone he chose to spend time with. I can’t imagine a greater privilege. I know how precious that gift really is because not every parent gets it. Not every adult child chooses to spend three weeks walking with Mom. The fact that mine did is something I will treasure for the rest of my life.
The Camino gave us beautiful experiences, unforgettable memories, and stories we will tell for the rest of our lives. But what it really gave me was this: Time.
Uninterrupted. Undistracted. Unhurried time with someone I love more than words can possibly capture. The more I live, the more I realize that time is life's most generous gift... and its rarest one.
As parents, we spend so much of our children's lives hoping we are giving them what they need. Then, years later if we are fortunate, life quietly hands us an answer.
My little boy has grown up. And for three unforgettable weeks... he chose to walk beside me.
That was the greatest gift of all.
