Hail Pilgrim! (eBook)

500 Miles on the Via Francigena

Katie Cerezo (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
244 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-6061-7 (ISBN)

Infos

In 990 A.D., an Archbishop known as 'Sigeric the Serious' embarked on an epic journey, traveling from Canterbury to Rome on a pilgrim route called the Via Francigena.

Katie Cerezo is a third-generation Sailor who served 20 years in the U.S. Navy. She is a major fan of long-distance walks.

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In 990 A.D., an Archbishop known as "e;Sigeric the Serious"e; embarked on an epic journey, traveling from Canterbury to Rome on a pilgrim route called the Via Francigena. More than 1000 years later, a newly retired navy sailor decided to walk the Via Francigena with her parents and teenage brother. Beginning in Switzerland, they trekked up alpine mountains, through forests, vineyards, and rice fields, and over the rolling hills of Tuscany. Despite a blistering summer heat wave, hordes of vicious mosquitos, and several bouts of gastritis, they entered Rome 44 days and 500 miles later. The Via Francigena is not an easy pilgrimage. And yet, every day on the historic trail is full of discoveries and joy, with spectacular natural beauty and unexpected kindnesses. Several centuries after its creation, the Via Francigena continues to inspire.

Textauszug

“Have you had any thoughts of sadness or depression in the past few weeks?”

“No.”

“Any thoughts of hurting yourself, or anyone else?”

I was struck by the directness of the question and the even tone. For a split second, I wondered whether the health professional was looking at the right forms: I was at the hospital for a military retirement physical, not a psych evaluation.

“No.”

The U.S. Navy and Veterans Affairs required many physicals as I prepared to depart active-duty military service. I would hear variations of the same questions repeated over the next few months.

One appointment was conducted via phone, with an anonymous someone somewhere in the continental United States. The instructions were very specific. I was to be near my mobile during one of the narrow time windows that was convenient for both the U.S. and Japan, and I was not to pick up the call while in a vehicle.

“Good evening, Commander,” the bright voice said. “It’s evening for you in Japan, right?”

“It is, indeed. Good morning to you.”

“Thank you!” There was a short laugh. “I’m jealous; our day out here is just getting started. Before we begin, please verify that you are in your place of residence.”

“I’m in my apartment now, yes.”

“May I get your street address and apartment number?” she asked politely. “For clarification, I would like the one you are currently at, not the one you will be retiring to.”

I provided her the information, and then curiosity got the better of me.

“Can I ask why you need it?”

There was a short pause, and then she answered with frankness.

“This can be an emotional time for some people. That’s why we don’t have this conversation while people are driving. We need your physical address, just in case something happens while we’re talking and we need to send someone over to help.”

With several thousand miles separating us, we were both quiet for several long seconds.

“Are you familiar with the resources that are available to you . . .”

I was a public affairs officer for the U.S. Navy. Hence, I both knew the statistics on veteran suicides and had personally experienced the gut-wrenching impact of losing fellow sailors. In the military, relationships achieve a depth that few other professions can match. Over the course of my career, I had lost friends and shipmates to accidents, training mishaps, illness, and suicide. Every death left an ache. Every death still stings.

I was only a few months away from joining the retired military veteran community. The guilt I felt came from the quasi-certainty that I was in a good place. I had a loving family, excellent health, a strong support network, and solid financial footing. I was retiring under the best possible circumstances. Surely everything would be just fine.

The Veterans Affairs office directed me to an off-installation center in Yokosuka for a physical to determine my disability rating. My neck had a limited range of motion, my feet were flat, there was a bad knee, and occasionally I had ringing in my ears. Aside from that, I thought my body had held up to the rigors of military life fairly well.

The doctor consulted her screen to verify the data.

“I see you’re getting ready to retire. How many years do you have?”

“A little over twenty.”

“Congratulations! How exciting. Forty-one years old. You’re still young enough that you can do so many things. What are you thinking of?”

“My parents, brother, and I will be hiking the Via Francigena for a couple of months. We’ve been planning this for a long time. After that, I’m not quite certain.”

She was an avid adventure traveler herself, she said. We had a lovely brief conversation about what the Via Francigena pilgrimage was, and why it was so important to me to do it with my family.

After a glance at the time, the expression on her face abruptly changed, shifting from animation to borderline embarrassment.

“There are a few questions I need to ask you now.”

I braced myself.

“Of course.”

“Have you had any thoughts of depression or sadness these past few weeks?”

I decided to be direct. It would be lying to say there was no sadness. I loved the navy, would always love it. It had been a very special part of my life. Of course, I thought there would be times I would be sad. However, I thought what I felt was both natural and healthy. There were aspects of retirement that unnerved me. But more than anything, I was optimistic. Excited, even.

“I’m glad,” she said sincerely, making direct eye contact. She looked down again and spoke rapidly. “Any thoughts of harming yourself or others? I’m sorry, I have to ask.”

“No.”

“Are you familiar with the resources that are available to you. . .?”

Some of my favorite people work in the health care community. But few things depressed me so much as going to medical.

My mom and I had been planning a mother–daughter Via Francigena pilgrimage for over four years. The truth is, I had always planned on retiring from the military after a twenty-year career. Twenty had such a nice sound and shape to it.

I was the third generation in my family to serve. My maternal grandfather had been a submarine electrician’s mate, and my paternal grandfather had enlisted as a steward after World War II. It was because he joined the U.S. Navy that he and my grandma were able to emigrate from the Philippines, and that my dad, uncle, and aunts had been born in the U.S.

My dad and uncle both graduated from the Naval Academy, became helicopter pilots, and served full careers before retiring. One of my younger brothers had been a submarine officer. Another younger brother was a midshipman at the Naval Academy.

The navy life was all I had ever known. I was born in Virginia Beach, a navy town. During the next four decades, I moved seventeen times. Not everyone loves the upheaval that comes with pulling out and moving someplace new. I ADORED it.

I had a strong hunch I would be a sailor from an early age. During a Career Day at my elementary school, parents of my classmates had come by to share the work they did. I liked the parents, but it is very rare for seven- and eight-year-olds to be impressed by office work. Children crave action. The most popular profession had been the firefighter who let us try on firefighting gear and took us outside to look inside the firetruck.

And then my dad and one of his student pilots landed their helicopter on the school track. They emerged from the helicopter in their flight suits looking like movie stars. My classmates and teachers looked at them with open jaws and wide eyes.

“Hey Katie, is that your dad?”

“That’s my dad,” I crowed.

Like most seven-year-old children, Dad was my hero. After graduating college and being commissioned, I began my career as a surface warfare officer and qualified to drive amphibious warships.

Like most people who have served, I felt I had lived not just one full life, but several.

I knew what it felt like to kneel before the daughter of a deceased sailor at a funeral, and present the American flag on behalf of a grateful nation. I knew the agony of losing friends to death, both on-duty and off. I had been chewed out by some of our nation’s finest leaders. I knew the deep loneliness that came from being at sea for months, separated from the people you care about the most, and the doubt that came from repeated failures. I knew some of the discomforts and physicality of serving at sea. I was a sailor prone to severe motion sickness, with a well-established reputation for having vomited on almost every amphibious platform in the navy and Marine Corps inventory.

However, the highs made it all worthwhile. I loved the energy of being surrounded by young men and women. I loved their creativity, intelligence, resourcefulness, and sense of humor. I loved the sense of tradition and adventure. Above all, I liked being part of an incredible team that cared.

I loved having a purpose.

So why leave? Why leave NOW?

Logically, it made little sense. My colleagues were fantastic, my boss was phenomenal, and living in Japan had been an absolute dream. I had a great job in a field I believed in, and I felt fulfilled. 

What sane person leaves when they are happy and when things are going well?

There was no other explanation than that it just felt time. There was no deeper reason for seeking out a pilgrimage, let alone this particular one on the Via Francigena.

Although there were those who questioned why I should leave active duty service, no one questioned why I should want to embark on a pilgrimage that retraced the route an obscure archbishop had made in the tenth century. I doubt that modern motivations differ much from those of pilgrims from several centuries ago. A hope that one might have an easier path to heaven. To search for a miracle. To escape unhappiness. To atone and seek redemption. To reflect on a way forward. To restore a lapsed faith.

What everyone seemed to question was what my plan was after the pilgrimage ended. I was touched by the sweetness of those who reached out to me once I announced my decision to retire on social media. Friends posted triumphant emojis, along with preemptive “welcome to the other side”...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.9.2024
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-6061-7 / 9798350960617