Dear Caminoheads,

 

“One of the loneliest places in the world to be is at a death bed where the one who is departing is haunted by regret for their unlived life.” These are words from John O’Donohue.

 

Phil said (one more time) just two days ago that “we should be afraid of not living here and now, but not afraid of death”. If there is something we can all confirm if that Phil has been on exactly the opposite farthest away side of that “loneliest place” that John mentions: Phil spent his days surrounded by his loved ones, by his old friends, his childhood friends, his new friends, his archery students, his clients, his nurses and doctors, his neighbors, his readers, in fact, every single stranger who crossed his path in person, virtually, through the movie, through his words in this blog,  soon in his book. Just hours ago, he was surrounded by more than 100 people at the same time -95 zoom spot connected, but in many spots there were more than 1 person- and as we said, from all over the world and age ranges. Who manages to do that had not lived his/her life to the fullest?

 

Phil used it all. And in the ways he wanted: in his ranch, in his tent, as a Civil War General, having walked his Camino until just a few days before today, having eaten a full crop of corn. Having celebrated one more anniversary with “His Rebecca, the love of his life”, aware of his family expanding with a new baby arriving, undoubtedly very proud of knowing his son would soon be a father himself,  reading public words from his beloved daughter, celebrating his life at The Oasis with all his fingernails-heart-mind-soul, sheltered by those friends who were “his rocks”, being a hospitalero and a pilgrim every day, fed by tapas and wine, and not before experiencing the miracle of the multiplication of the steak and potatoes.

 

And these are only the things I am aware of, just by walking by his side, but we all know there were so many more, many we had glimpses to, many we suspect, many he kept by his loved ones…

 

I have wondered all the day: should I be sad instead of joyful? Can the void and the sorrow that Phil has left in my heart co-exist with joy? And I realize it is perfectly fine. The joy is the sign I am celebrating Phil’s life, that his body life ended in the terms he wanted, in the ways he wanted. Can we ask for something more knowing since we are born that death is a part of life?

 

John O’Donohue wrote: “If my own death were to occur tomorrow, what would be the peaks of my existence? The faces of my beloved, and of others I love and those who loved me. The dark valleys of devastation; mountains; the ocean, the numinous music of words; the endless festival of the senses; the excitement and beauty of woman; the joy of music; memories of hard but satisfying days of work on the bog, in the meadows, building walls; conversations that still sing in the mind; the harp cello of the Irish language; the Eucharist, and the celebration of the body in love; being listened to when words were frail and suffering was sore; the return of the swallows to the shed; my uncle’s companionship; my father’s mystical sense; and my mother’s love and trust in my being.”

 

All of us who walked by Phil for “whatever brief of a span”, may recognize in this paragraph many of the “peaks of the existence” of Phil; because his generosity made him share many of those with us. And probably we can bring in mind others:  “Camino”, “Patch of corn”, “Vashon”, “Ranch”, “Walking”, “Tapas”, “Working the wood”, “Birdfeeders”, “Pilgrims”, “Friendship”, “Hospitality”…

 

What a life! What a privilege to have walked with you, Phil! Buen Camino!!!

 

Cris