In early 2020, when the world was shutting down, my world crumbled when my wife, Sam, was diagnosed with terminal cancer at age 36. Nothing prepares one for the devastating heartache of watching the person you love and adore battle a terminal diagnosis, and it was made even harder by the isolation brought on by the pandemic. And yet, every day we found small joys like dancing, soaking up the sun, or watching our favourite series 'It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia'. Sam always had the ability of finding humour and light, even on her darkest days.

Sam was a surfer, philosophy and psychology major, a poet, and an author, who published a collection of her poems in her book 'The Zen Art of War'. One of my favourites from the collection is the following:

Five months after her diagnosis, Sam’s condition worsened, and I could no longer care for her on my own. That’s when we reached out to our local hospice, Woking and Sam Beare. They welcomed us with open arms and allowed me to stay by Sam’s side. For the first time in months, we had the support and care Sam desperately needed. We were able to spend her final weeks together in peace, surrounded by the love and care of the incredible hospice staff. We celebrated our 10-year anniversary there, and the staff, who became like family, gave us flowers and a card. I still have that card as a reminder, not just of their kindness, but of the beauty and goodness of humanity.

Sam passed away peacefully in her sleep on 22nd October 2020, with me by her side.

After she passed, I traveled back home to South Africa to be with my family (a lucky window between travel shutdowns). I was broken, lost, and struggling to find any meaning or joy in life. All I wanted to do was stay in bed and just let life pass me by. But I knew Sam wouldn’t want that for me. So one day, I got up and decided to take my parents’ dog, Penny, out for a walk. The warmth of the sun on my face, the joy of watching Penny run and sniff around and moving my body gave me the type of joy I hadn’t felt in ages. The next day, I got up and walked again.

Penny and I walked almost every morning for a year. Most days, our walks were short, just down the farm road and back, especially when the weather was rainy and misty. Other days, we’d go on longer excursions to our local wildlife reserve. Step by step, surrounded by my loved ones, animals and nature, I slowly began to heal. The grief of losing Sam will always be a part of me - it's the price of loving deeply, and I've made peace with that.

This year marks five years since Sam passed, and to honour her life and memory, I’m continuing to walk. This time, instead of down the farm lanes, I’ll be aiming to complete four stages of the Camino de Santiago and raising funds for hospice. I'll be walking between 17 - 33 kilometers a day (come rain or shine) over 22 consecutive days - a total of about 500 kilometers (310 miles).

Following in the footsteps of those who have embarked on the Camino de Santiago before me, this will be a meaningful and spiritual pilgrimage to embrace the beauty and pain of this world. I have no doubt that the journey will be a physical, mental, and emotional challenge at times but with each step, I’ll find joy in the journey, carrying Sam’s spirit with me every day and drawing strength from knowing I’m supporting a cause so close to my heart.

On October 1st, I’ll begin the Camino in Burgos and arrive at Santiago de Compostela on October 22nd, the five-year anniversary of Sam’s passing.

Please join me on this journey, and if you’re able, I would be deeply grateful for any donation, big or small, to support Woking and Sam Beare Hospice. I didn’t know this before Sam's diagnoses, but hospices across the UK rely heavily on donations, with only ⅓ of their funding coming from the government. Your support will make a world of difference.