Time, Space, Freedom
Updated: 13 hours ago
"In 2017, my mother told me about the St. Olav’s Path — an old Scandinavian pilgrimage route. She had read a short article in a magazine about spirituality and happiness, and she had made her decision: she was going to walk through the Swedish wilderness. Alone. At that time, my mother was 80 years old, and less than a year earlier she had undergone major surgery for intestinal cancer. I was not too enthusiastic about the idea. In fact, I was quite worried.
Fortunately, she asked for help in organising her itinerary. And when I heard that the organiser (Nordic Pilgrim) would track her position during her ten days of walking via an app, I felt slightly reassured — and I began to see the beauty of her idea.
Later, when I started receiving her first messages during the walk, that beauty was confirmed by the magnificent pictures she sent. I was deeply impressed by the scenery, the stories, and her descriptions of the different accommodations along the way. She walked from Revsund to Åre.
The year 2018 was a sad one. In July, my stepfather died, and in August my mother heard from the hospital doctors that her cancer had returned. The prognosis was that she had two months to live — probably less. We were overwhelmed with sadness. A second opinion at a specialist cancer institute offered more hope: if my mother agreed to undergo chemotherapy combined with further surgery, she would have a reasonable chance. She declined, however, leaving me in despair.
I am not the person to define what miracles are. But it certainly seemed like one when, after deciding not to seek further medical treatment, my mother began to feel better. Every now and then there were severe crises in her physical condition, but in between those moments she recovered and experienced days, weeks, and sometimes even months of feeling fit and strong.
Time went on, and in 2019 she felt so good that we had the brave idea of going to Sweden together. We knew it would be our last trip together. As our departure approached, however, my mother began to feel very weak. I suggested giving up the plan — I didn’t feel confident about walking along deserted nature trails with my 82-year-old mother, who was clearly unwell. But she insisted firmly. Again, the fact that our trip would be organised, our luggage transported, and that we would be connected and tracked through an app helped me agree to her wish.
The first days went slowly. But each day my mother grew stronger and fitter. After a few days, we even walked 30 kilometres in a single day! It was a pure, simple, and blissful experience to walk this trail together. Sometimes we talked; other times we sat in silence on a fallen tree, a bench, or a rock. We visited little churches, admired beautiful views, walked in the sun, and hiked through heavy rain. Our week of walking became a sequence of many small, magical moments that we shared together. I think that in my adult life, I have never felt so close to my mother.
The Olav’s Path itself was even more beautiful than the images my mother had sent me. One of the nicest moments, at the end of each day, was being welcomed into an accommodation that was always a surprise. We slept in an old church, an artist’s gallery, a motel, a little cabin in the middle of nowhere, and in people’s homes. Sometimes it was basic; other times more comfortable — but always wonderful. Together we walked from Torpshammar to Pilgrimstad.
In 2020, my mother died. She was at peace with her situation, and mentally she was 100 percent strong. Even an hour before her death, she was still sending me messages — sharing her final wishes about her own funeral.
Instead of the two months that the doctors had given her, she lived for another two years. And what years they were. After she accepted her decision not to undergo further treatment, the way opened for an intense but harmonious closing phase of her life. And walking together along the Olav’s Path was its highlight.
After my mother’s funeral, I could think of only one way to give form to my grief. It was during the corona period, so it was not easy — but I wanted to return to the Olav’s Path. This time I would walk the part that my mother had walked in 2017. I literally followed in her footsteps. I started in Pilgrimstad, the place where my mother and I had ended our trip the year before. I even stayed in the same artist’s gallery. I arrived late at night and was welcomed by the owner with candlelight and a fire burning in the stove. It was emotional to be in the same place where I had once been with my mother — but it was also beautiful, and deeply healing.
In eight days, I walked from Pilgrimstad to Åre. In most places, I stayed in the same hostels, homes, and cabins where my mother had stayed. Sometimes, I could even read the notes she had written in the guestbooks. Of course, moments like that could bring pain and grief — but overall, my walk was about admiration and gratitude: for the astonishing beauty of the trail and the profound experience of walking alone for days. Because of corona, the path was probably even more deserted than in other years — but I did not mind. The Olav’s Path seemed to welcome me even more.
And most of all, it helped me discover something I know my mother had always been searching for: an unparalleled feeling of time, space, and freedom."
Rob Burkhard, The Netherlands. In memory of my mother, Galina Ashley.
