¡Ultreya!

¡Ultreya! villagers living along El Camino (Sp. the way, the road, the journey) shout to pilgrims walking the route across northwestern Spain on their way to the shrine of the apostle St. James. The 1,000-year-old pilgrimage is made by over 100,000 people each year from points all over Europe and other parts of the world to the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, where tradition has it that the remains of the saint are buried. It is an ancient, and allegedly enchanted, pilgrimage. People from St. Francis of Assisi, Charlemagne, Ferdinand and Isabella to Dante and Chaucer have taken the journey, which comprises a nearly 500-mile trek across highways, mountains and valleys, cities and towns, and fields. Books and movies chronicle the journey. Shirley MacLaine described her transformational experience in the book, The Camino: A Journey of the Spirit.

Home now in New Mexico after seven months in California taking care of my son Grant, being with him when he died, dealing with his estate and taking care of myself, I tell myself inwardly, ¡Ultreya!  “Keep going.” I’m not sure where the path will lead or how to find my way. A gift from a friend in my patio garden, a large, grey river rock etched with the word ultreya, reminds me I don’t have to know the way to keep going.

Grant and I lived an experience of ultreya three years ago when we couldn’t find the path. Keep going. We were on our way to the studio of a well-known photographer, Will Bertz,* who donated portrait sittings to a nonprofit fundraiser. I purchased one. “The last professional photo I have of you is your senior picture. And that was taken seventeen years ago!” I lamented to Grant. “That’s what I want for Christmas – a photo of the two of us. Will you go?” Reluctant agreement followed.

Will lives on an avocado ranch in the rural farmlands of Carpinteria, south of Santa Barbara, CA. Directions were something like, “Turn off on the dirt road past the polo fields toward the mountains. Drive over the bump, turn left at the tree, go past the three cows, turn in at the first stone pillar and follow the driveway past the four garages and around the barn. The studio is on the ocean side of the house.”

Grant was driving. My navigation consisted of “Keep going. Keep going…” But we couldn’t find a path past the four garages and around the barn. We tried the house next door. That wasn’t it. We returned to try again. So many vehicles were parked on the concrete apron, we couldn’t see the dirt path past the garages and barn. Only when we kept going while there seemed to be no way, was the dirt path revealed. We found the studio. Grant and I relaxed outside while Will set up the lights and equipment. Playing with the family border collie and enjoying the calming ocean views, avocado grove and trickling creek on a fresh, clear day prepared us for the sitting. Will, a commercial filmmaker for many years with a long list of Fortune 500 clients, sold his company to Industrial Light & Magic. Warm, personable and attractive, he was really good with people, working his magic in a relaxed and playful way to capture the unique essence of each subject and the relationship between them. Our Christmas portrait was wonderful, the experience memorable.

Driving past the stone pillars as we left, Grant said, “You know, Mom, this was really a good lesson for me. ‘Keep going – the path will be revealed.’ ” “It’s a good lesson for me too,” I replied. Grant’s melanoma was in remission after his first round of treatments. Once we merged onto the northbound freeway, I said, “You know, Grant, Will is recovering from a malignant brain tumor. He had lung cancer several years ago.” I was so glad Grant had the opportunity, which he actually seemed to enjoy, to see a great role model at work – a happy, successful man earning a good living doing what he loved through creative self-expression. Perhaps it would inspire the artist in Grant.

On New Year’s Day my cell phone rang. It was Will. He said he had to call after reading our family Christmas letter several times and learning Grant’s cancer returned. His call was a call of encouragement. ¡Ultreya! I shared the story of how we found his studio. He urged me to continue writing, telling me how much the Christmas letter touched him. He supported Grant’s healing. His kind, thoughtful gift of love, the phone call, was not his only gift. The call revealed the book title for Grant’s and my journey together: Keep Going – the Path Will Be Revealed: A Caregiver’s Journey Supporting An Adult Child with Cancer.

At Serenity House, the beautiful hospice building overlooking the entire city of Santa Barbara where Grant spent his last four days, the subtle presence of ultreya infused the experience of facing the unknown. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do,” Grant said to me, aware he had little time left. “You just do what you do,” I answered. Grant’s friend Chris, who gifted him with an L. A. Kings’ hockey jersey signed by the team, shared their interaction at Grant’s Celebration of Life service. Chris said to Grant, “I don’t know what to say.” Grant replied, “I don’t either. This is the first time I’ve been told I have a week to live.” “I guess we just do what we always do,” Chris said. “Yeah,” Grant answered, and they continued their conversation. When the time came, and Grant was breathing his last few breaths, I could tell his spirit was leaving his body. “Yes. Yes. Yes,” I said. Keep going. The path will be revealed.

*changed for privacy