Column: pilgrimage to Rome was the only way out

One summer morning in 2008 I sat on my bench in the garden, numb, half in shock. The night before, my partner, my dear Cor, had passed away after a long period of illness. It was as if a movie was constantly playing in my head, in which I relived everything from the past few weeks over and over again. 

I was looking for something to hold on to and I didn't know where. At one point I sat down at my computer, who or what could support me? Suddenly Toon Hermans came to my mind. I clicked on him and looked up his poems. After all, he had once lost his wife, his beloved Rietje. How had he dealt with that at the time? His poems were indeed comforting, I stuck with two lines: 'In the silence I will meet you again, together we will walk through the landscape.'

'I'm going to walk to Rome'

Those sentences made room in my head and opened a way out, as if the road that cut Cor off me forever suddenly opened up after all. I'm going to walk to Rome, I suddenly thought. It also seemed like the only thing I could do: walk for days, let my thoughts run wild, exhaust myself. And in a certain way I would meet Cor again, I was convinced of that.

When I got back to work 14 days later, I immediately went to talk to my boss. I wanted to leave in just under two years and needed five months of unpaid leave. From then on I used all my days off to walk. I walked and I walked, and at night I fell exhausted on the couch. But it made the grief a little more bearable. I linked a sponsorship to my walking tour. During my trip I would collect money for the Parkinson Fund, because Cor had died of Parkinson's. I would also keep a weblog, so that everyone could follow me during my journey.

On Friday 2 April 2010 the time had come. With two walking sticks and a backpack on, I walked out of my garden, insanely aware that I was now going to walk to Rome. At my first coffee stop, in Hilversum, about forty friends and colleagues were waiting for me to say goodbye. At 12 o'clock I walked down the 's Gravelandseweg, on my way to Rome.

To be continued…