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The more I walk the more space there seems to be in my head/life to remember , to laugh and to cry.

✍️ Day 3 – Blog Post

🗓️ 1 July 2025
Title: Day 3 – Grief in Motion
Subtitle: Some things can only be healed on foot

⸻

I’ve always believed that walking is thinking, just slower.

Since Angé died, the grief hasn’t stayed in one place.
It moves. It weaves its way through memories and moments.
It rises in the supermarket aisle. Falls in the silence of an empty bed.
It stiffens my back, weighs my legs, steals my breath.

But when I walk — something shifts.
Grief gets tangable
And that seems to make space to breath a little. Smile a little
Yesterday I spent the whole day walking through Amsterdam. Visiting some of the places we visited, having coffee at the same places. Painful but therapeutic.

⸻

🌻 The Camino as a Vessel

People think walking is just physical. But on the Camino,

Each step says:
“I’m still here.”
Each breath says:
“She still matters.”
Each kilometre says:
“This love doesn’t end.”

I’m not walking to get away from the pain.
I’m walking so the pain can stretch out and soften.
So it doesn’t sit like a stone in my chest.
So it becomes something I embrace with love, not try and overcome it

⸻

🌻 What I Carry

I carry sunflower seeds to grow a movement
I carry a bit of Angé to leave along the path with the sunflowers

I carry her memory in every step.
The quiet mornings. The hospital nights. The laughter in the middle of a storm.
I carry all of it.

But the Camino doesn’t just ask what you carry.
It asks how.

It teaches you to lighten the load.
To carry with intention.
To honour the weight without letting it break you.

And so I walk.
Not to fix anything.
Not to outrun the ache.
But to move with it.

⸻

🌻 For Everyone Walking Their Own Camino

Grief is its own Camino.
You may never lace up hiking boots or fly to Lisbon, but I know — you’re walking, too. Through memories. Through loss. Through days you never asked for.

Maybe your grief is fresh. Maybe it’s buried deep.
Maybe you’re holding it together for others. Or maybe you’re falling apart and hiding it well.

Whatever your walk looks like, know this:
You’re not alone.

There’s power in movement — even if it’s just a walk around the block.
Even if it’s a walk through old photos.
Even if it’s a walk across your own living room, one heavy foot at a time.

⸻

🌻 Let’s Walk Together

If you’ve lost someone — to cancer, to time, to circumstance — you’re invited to join me in a simple act of remembrance:

🌻 Plant a sunflower.
📸 Capture the moment.
📝 Share your story.

👉 angeforsunflowers.com

You don’t have to walk far. Just walk honestly.
With love. With memory. With motion.
Sharing certainly makes the pain bearable

⸻

🌻 Tomorrow: “The Soul of the Camino”

What is it that draws so many to this ancient route?
What does it mean to walk a sacred path with strangers who become family?

Tomorrow, we look at the soul of this trail — and the unexpected grace it gives.

⸻

Buen Camino.
Ian 🌻👣

Hot hot hot. The start is frustrating, the Camino is confusing, the heat is challenging.

Camino Day 1 — You Have to Earn It

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📸 Photo of the Day

The real start of the Camino. I left a bit of Angé on the steps.

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🎵 Song of the Day

Sunflower – Neil Diamond (YouTube)

A song for the one who always turned her face to the sun.

“Sunflower, good morning / You sure do make it like a sunny day…”

⸻

📖 The Walk Begins

I set out early, ready to start this journey with my pilgrim passport in hand. Except… the Lisbon Cathedral was closed. Supposed to open at 9:30 — but a new sign said 1pm.
Tourism office? Only opens at 2.

Eventually, after some wandering (and a little grumbling), I found this church — perched high on a hill. Quiet. Modest. Open.
This is where it began.
This is where I got my first stamp.
This is where I left a little bit of Angé.

⸻

I walked alone today.
I listened to A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis.
It is food for thought.

I started walking at 11. The beginning was glorious — a long stroll along the beach, wind in my face, no crowds. But there were no signs. I got lost more than once, eventually surrendering to my Camino Ninja app, which became my guide out of Lisbon.

The first 8km were stunning — blue water, wide skies, space to breathe. But that gave way to industrial wasteland and dumping grounds. The Camino doesn’t hide anything. It just keeps going.

Around 1pm, I was running out of water. I had expected more water points along the way — there were none.
Thankfully, a small detour into a little town brought me to a humble restaurant that was open. I drank a litre and a half of water, cold drink, and anything cold I could find. And I had a plate of chips — that was lunch. Possibly the best plate of chips I’ve ever had.

It was hot today. 35 degrees and not much shade.
I walked until 3pm, covering 20km in the heat.
Today I could not feel Angé. I remember her, I talk to her but today was different. She is now being carried in my heart but also my conscious.

Then came the blow: the hostel I booked was 5km off the Camino.
I laughed. Then I nearly cried.

But as always, grace showed up.
I found a hotel — with a pool. A small miracle.
Ubered over. Collapsed into the cool water.
That first swim might be the most spiritual moment of the day.

⸻

🪻Sunflower Planting of the Day

No sunflower planted today — not physically.
There wasn’t a single spot along the route that felt right — not one place I felt Angé would be happy with.
But on the steps of that little church on the hill, I left something just as sacred: a part of her, and a quiet promise to keep going.

⸻

💭 Reflections

Today, the Camino reminded me that nothing is handed to you — not the stamps, not the shade, not the right path, not healing, not moving foreward, not forgiving.
You have to walk for it. Sweat for it.
Get lost, and then find your way.
As if the trail itself whispered:
“You want this? Then earn it.”

And I did.
Day 1: 20km.
One stamp.
One sacred beginning.
One very good plate of chips.

⸻

🌻 Follow the Journey, Join the Movement

🔗 Visit the Angé for Sunflowers website
💬 Join the daily WhatsApp updates here

Mourning, contentment, happiness. Today I choose happiness

Title: Tomorrow, I Walk
Subtitle: Choosing happiness — one step at a time

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It’s been almost a month since Angé died.
A month of ache and memory.
A month of learning how to miss her.

And these are my reflections on mourning, on contentment, on happiness.
Because tomorrow, I walk.

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🌻 Mourning

Mourning is the price we pay for deep love.
It’s raw.
It’s honest.
It changes by the hour.

Some days, it feels like the air is missing.
Other days, like I’m walking with her shadow beside me.
There are moments I still look for her, still say goodnight.
Still catch myself reaching out to share something she would have loved.

But one thing is clear: mourning is not a place to live forever.
It’s a passage — not a destination.
And I am walking through it now.

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🌻 Contentment

People talk about contentment as though it’s the end goal.
A calm heart. A quiet life. A peaceful cup of tea.

But I’ve learned something else:
Contentment can be a trap.

It can be a safe hiding place —
Where you no longer reach out, no longer risk joy.
Where you nod politely to life without fully rejoining it.

That’s not the life Angé lived.
And it’s not the life I want to live either.

⸻

🌻 Happiness

So I choose something else.

I choose happiness.

Not the surface-level smile or polite “I’m fine” happiness.
But the deep, determined kind.
The kind that looks grief in the eye and says:
“I’m still here. I’m still living. I’m still going.”

The kind of happiness that honours Angé —
By walking forward
By noticing beauty
By planting hope.

⸻

So tomorrow I begin walking the Portuguese Camino — from Lisbon to Santiago.
Not just to mourn.
But to remember.
To move.
To start again.

This walk is for Angé.
And for everyone who has lost someone and still found the courage to keep walking.

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🌻 Follow the journey
🔗 Read the blog
🌍 Share your story
💬 Join the WhatsApp group

⸻

Buen Camino.
Ian 🌻👣

I’m not looking for answers — just a few quiet gifts

Title: What I Hope This Walk Will Give Me
Subtitle: I’m not looking for answers — just a few quiet gifts

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🎵 Song of the Day

“Pilgrim” – Enya
A haunting, sacred melody for the soul on the edge of the unknown.
Enya’s voice drifts like a prayer — full of longing, surrender, and quiet courage.

“Pilgrim, how you journey on the road you chose…”

🎧 Listen here

Let it be the backdrop for today’s thoughts — a song to walk alongside as the journey nears.

⸻

It’s 2 days to go.

On Monday, I begin the Portuguese Camino — a 600km journey I never planned to take, and yet, now can’t imagine not doing.

Angé died three weeks ago. The silence she left behind still echoes through every part of my day. And as I stand at the edge of this pilgrimage, I’m not looking for solutions. I’m walking with questions.

But if this Camino gives me anything — here’s what I hope for:

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🌻 1. A Perspective on Mourning — A Way to Remember Without the Pain
I want to understand mourning differently.

Not just as a wave of sorrow that hits without warning — but as a quieter, more sacred space.
A place where memory doesn’t hurt so sharply.
A way to remember Angé without flinching.

Maybe the Camino will teach me that grief isn’t something to escape, but something to soften.
That mourning can become a gentle ritual — not a wound, but a witness.
That even in sorrow, there can be peace.

⸻

🌻 2. A Quiet Sense of Peace
Not peace as in “moving on.”
Just enough peace to sit still with the loss and not feel overwhelmed.
To breathe without bracing.

A peace found in the sound of footsteps. In conversations with strangers. In watching a sunrise Angé will never see, but somehow will.

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🌻 3. A Start for the Angé for Sunflowers Movement
This walk is also a beginning — not just of a journey, but of a movement.

Angé believed in kindness. In quiet beauty. In love that ripples outward.
That’s what this project is about:
🌻 Planting sunflowers.
📸 Capturing moments of memory.
📝 Sharing the stories of those we’ve lost.

The Camino is where this movement begins — one flower, one story, one step at a time.

👉 angeforsunflowers.com

⸻

🌻 4. A Vague, Gentle Sense of Direction
Right now, everything feels uncertain.
I’m functioning — writing, planning, sharing — but directionless.

I hope the Camino gives me something loose but grounding.
Not a full plan. Just a sense of “this is the next right thing.”

Even a whisper would be enough.

⸻

🌻 5. A Tentative Six-Month Horizon
By the time I reach Santiago, I’d love to have:
• A rhythm to keep Angé for Sunflowers alive.
• A way to balance grief and meaning.
• A slow return to work and relationships, without pretending I’m fine.
• A path toward joy, even if it feels out of reach right now.

I don’t expect a roadmap. Just a sketch. A light on the path ahead.

⸻

🌻 Walking Forward

This Camino isn’t about fixing grief.
It’s about walking with it.
Giving it space. Letting it breathe.

And maybe — just maybe — it’s about learning how to live again, not instead of Angé, but alongside her memory.

What I want, more than anything, is to be able to go places… and know that being there is okay.
To enjoy the view. The conversation. The meal.
Even though Angé isn’t next to me.

Not because I’ve forgotten her.
But because I’ve made peace with carrying her in a different way.

I want the joy of the moment to be real — not swallowed by absence.
I want to laugh, and not feel guilty for it.
I want to be fully in life again, even if part of me will always ache.

That’s what I’m walking toward.

⸻

🌻 Join Me

If you’ve lost someone — and carry their memory forward — you’re invited to walk in your own way:

🌻 Plant a sunflower
📸 Capture the moment
📝 Share your story
👉 angeforsunflowers.com

📲 Join the WhatsApp journey:
👉 Click to join

⸻

Buen Camino.
Ian 🌻👣

I want to share with you who the Angé was that I loved.

🗓️ 3 July 2025
Title: This Is Who Angé Was — And Why I Need to Honour Her
Subtitle: Before I walk, I want you to know who I’m walking for.

⸻

Three days from now, I’ll lace up my shoes, sling a backpack over my shoulder, and take the first steps of the Camino.

But before I do that, I want to tell you about Angé.
Not just about her cancer. Not just about her dying.
About who she was.
Because that’s why I walk — not to escape her death, but to carry her life.

She was light.
She was fierce and slow, somehow at the same time.
She’d stop mid-sentence to marvel at a flower, and hours later, have a sharp comeback that made everyone laugh.

She wasn’t loud, but she was present — fully, deeply. When she listened, it was like the world paused. When she loved, it was without condition. And when she laughed, it cracked open the air.

⸻

🌻 She noticed everything.

She’d point out a sunflower growing between two paving stones.
She’d remember a child’s name from a conversation a year ago.
She’d see the good in people who couldn’t see it in themselves.

She moved through life slowly, but with purpose. Never rushed. Never scattered. And while I sometimes found her pace frustrating — “Come on, Angé!” — now I’d give anything to slow down beside her again.

Angé didn’t demand attention.
She earned it.
With kindness. With gentleness. With that steady strength that doesn’t need to prove itself.

⸻

🌻 She was a warrior — not in armour, but in presence.

When the cancer came, she didn’t fight in the traditional sense. She didn’t shout “I’m going to beat this.” She didn’t rage.

She made choices.
She asked hard questions.
She refused to be reduced to a diagnosis.

She found power in the tiny things — holding someone’s hand, sitting in the sun, letting her hair grow back on her own terms.

She still made space for other people’s pain, even when she was drowning in her own. That was Angé. Always others-first. Always love-first.

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🌻 Why I Walk

I walk because Angé never got the chance.

We talked about it — the Camino. One day, she said. Maybe when life slowed down. Maybe after this or that. But that “one day” never came.

So now I walk for her.
With her.
And maybe, a little bit, as her.

I carry her photo. I carry her words.
I carry a sunflower sewn into my pack and a QR code on my sleeve that leads people to her story.

This isn’t just my Camino.
It’s ours.

⸻

🌻 This is not closure. This is continuation.

People keep asking if this walk will bring closure. It won’t.
Angé doesn’t need to be “closed.” She needs to be carried. Celebrated.
Remembered for her wild grace and sunflower heart.

This Camino is how I start doing that, step by step.
Not to get over the loss — but to live with it.

And to invite others to do the same.

⸻

🌻 If you knew her, you know why. If you didn’t — now you do.

She was kindness in motion.
She was grace under pressure.
She was sunflowers and sea breeze and open-hearted wonder.

She saw life clearly and chose beauty anyway.

And so, as I walk through Portugal and Spain in her name, I invite you to do something with me.

🌻 Plant a sunflower.
📸 Capture the moment.
📝 Tell your story.
👉 angeforsunflowers.com

This isn’t just about Angé.
It’s about your person too. The one you carry. The one you miss.

Let’s remember them with sunflowers. With stories. With movement.

⸻

Three days to go.
And every step forward from here is for her.

Buen Camino.
Ian 🌻👣

The more I walk the more space there seems to be in my head/life to remember , to laugh and to cry.

✍️ Day 3 – Blog Post

🗓️ 1 July 2025
Title: Day 3 – Grief in Motion
Subtitle: Some things can only be healed on foot

⸻

I’ve always believed that walking is thinking, just slower.

Since Angé died, the grief hasn’t stayed in one place.
It moves. It weaves its way through memories and moments.
It rises in the supermarket aisle. Falls in the silence of an empty bed.
It stiffens my back, weighs my legs, steals my breath.

But when I walk — something shifts.
Grief gets tangable
And that seems to make space to breath a little. Smile a little
Yesterday I spent the whole day walking through Amsterdam. Visiting some of the places we visited, having coffee at the same places. Painful but therapeutic.

⸻

🌻 The Camino as a Vessel

People think walking is just physical. But on the Camino,

Each step says:
“I’m still here.”
Each breath says:
“She still matters.”
Each kilometre says:
“This love doesn’t end.”

I’m not walking to get away from the pain.
I’m walking so the pain can stretch out and soften.
So it doesn’t sit like a stone in my chest.
So it becomes something I embrace with love, not try and overcome it

⸻

🌻 What I Carry

I carry sunflower seeds to grow a movement
I carry a bit of Angé to leave along the path with the sunflowers

I carry her memory in every step.
The quiet mornings. The hospital nights. The laughter in the middle of a storm.
I carry all of it.

But the Camino doesn’t just ask what you carry.
It asks how.

It teaches you to lighten the load.
To carry with intention.
To honour the weight without letting it break you.

And so I walk.
Not to fix anything.
Not to outrun the ache.
But to move with it.

⸻

🌻 For Everyone Walking Their Own Camino

Grief is its own Camino.
You may never lace up hiking boots or fly to Lisbon, but I know — you’re walking, too. Through memories. Through loss. Through days you never asked for.

Maybe your grief is fresh. Maybe it’s buried deep.
Maybe you’re holding it together for others. Or maybe you’re falling apart and hiding it well.

Whatever your walk looks like, know this:
You’re not alone.

There’s power in movement — even if it’s just a walk around the block.
Even if it’s a walk through old photos.
Even if it’s a walk across your own living room, one heavy foot at a time.

⸻

🌻 Let’s Walk Together

If you’ve lost someone — to cancer, to time, to circumstance — you’re invited to join me in a simple act of remembrance:

🌻 Plant a sunflower.
📸 Capture the moment.
📝 Share your story.

👉 angeforsunflowers.com

You don’t have to walk far. Just walk honestly.
With love. With memory. With motion.
Sharing certainly makes the pain bearable

⸻

🌻 Tomorrow: “The Soul of the Camino”

What is it that draws so many to this ancient route?
What does it mean to walk a sacred path with strangers who become family?

Tomorrow, we look at the soul of this trail — and the unexpected grace it gives.

⸻

Buen Camino.
Ian 🌻👣

A summary of who Angé was

🌻 Day 2: Sunflowers in My Heart

🗓️ 30 June 2025
Subtitle: Holding on to the Light

⸻

When Angé first saw a sunflower field, she stopped the car.

It was one of those small, surprising moments — a stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, a sudden splash of yellow flooding the horizon. She jumped out, barefoot, walked to the edge of the field, and just stood there, arms wide open to the sun.

“That’s how I want to live,” she said. “Like them. Always facing the light.”

I didn’t realise then that I’d carry that moment with me forever.

⸻

🌻 Why the Sunflower?

Since Angé died, I see sunflowers everywhere.

Not just in gardens or bouquets — but in strange, serendipitous places. A child’s drawing on a restaurant wall. A packet of seeds sent by a stranger. A logo on a passing van. A roadside flower growing from a crack in the pavement.

And each time, it feels like a gentle whisper from her: “I’m still with you.”

The sunflower has become more than just a flower.
It’s a sign. A signal. A promise.

They are bold. They grow tall. They rise.
And no matter how heavy the storm, they turn their faces to the light.

⸻

🌻 This Walk is for Her

When I start walking the Camino next week, I’ll be carrying sunflower seeds in my pocket — just a few, but they’re everything.

They’re memories.
They’re the promises we made.
They’re the way I keep moving forward, even when the road feels impossibly long.

This walk is for Angé.
But it’s also for anyone who has ever loved and lost.
For anyone walking through grief.
For anyone who’s trying to keep their face to the light, even when the night feels too dark.

⸻

🌻 The Camino Is a Garden of Stories

The Portuguese Camino is an ancient pilgrimage. But it’s more than a route — it’s a path lined with stories, prayers, pain, healing, and hope.

As I walk, I’ll plant sunflower seeds.
Not in the ground — but in people’s hearts.
By sharing Angé’s story. By listening to others.
By asking people to remember, to love, to keep walking.

⸻

🌻 Plant One for Someone You Love

This project isn’t just mine.
It’s yours, too.

🌻 Plant a sunflower
📸 Capture the moment
📝 Share your story

Whether it’s someone you’ve lost, someone still fighting, or someone who gave you hope when you needed it — you can honour them.

Tell your story at:
👉 angeforsunflowers.com

Let’s turn this walk into a field of sunflowers stretching across the world.

⸻

🌻 Tomorrow: “Grief in Motion”

Grief isn’t something you solve.
But sometimes, it can be softened by movement.
Step by step, I’m learning what it means to walk with pain — and not be broken by it.

Until then — keep facing the light.

Walking the Camino, planting sunflowers, creating hope for those who have lost loved ones to cancer

🌻 Walking the Portuguese Camino for Angé — A Journey of Love, Memory, and Sunflowers

On 7 July, I lace up my shoes and take the first step of a 35-day walk along the Portuguese Camino de Santiago — a journey that’s about far more than just distance. With every step I take, and at every stop along the way, I’ll be planting sunflower seeds in memory of Angé, my beloved partner, and in honor of all those we have lost to cancer.

This walk is my tribute. A way of turning grief into growth, sorrow into sunflowers, and solitude into shared purpose. And as I move along the ancient paths, I invite you to walk with me in spirit, to follow the journey, and to plant your own sunflower of remembrance.

From Lisbon: The First Steps of Reflection
The journey begins in Lisbon, the vibrant capital of Portugal. Narrow cobbled streets, azulejo-tiled houses, and the soulful sounds of fado will mark my first steps. Here, beneath the shadow of the iconic Torre de Belém, I’ll pause to plant my first sunflower — a symbol of beginnings, hope, and courage.

Walking out of the city, the mighty Tagus River will guide me inland, its waters a reminder of life’s constant flow. The modern blends with the ancient, and I’ll leave behind the city’s hum for the quiet of smaller villages.

Through Santarém: Sunflowers Among Olive Groves
As the days unfold, I’ll pass through Santarém, a city that stands high on a hill, watching over the Tagus valley. Known as the Gothic capital of Portugal, it’s a place of ancient churches and timeless views. Here, I’ll plant more sunflowers at the foot of centuries-old walls — a gesture that bridges the past and present.

The path winds through olive groves and vineyards, where the air is rich with the scent of earth and sun-warmed fruit. Each morning, I’ll walk under a rising sun, imagining Angé’s warm smile in the golden light.

Coimbra and Porto: Cities of Soul and Song
Further north, the Camino brings me to Coimbra, the city of students, poets, and riverside beauty. The University of Coimbra stands tall above the town, its library a treasure of knowledge. I’ll stop to plant sunflowers by the Mondego River, letting the gentle current carry my thoughts of Angé onward.

Then comes Porto, where the Camino meets the sea. The city’s steep streets, colorful houses, and the famous Dom Luís I Bridge will be my backdrop. Here, at the mouth of the Douro River, I’ll plant more seeds — sunflowers that will turn, I hope, toward the Atlantic breeze as they grow.

Porto is a city of resilience, rebuilt time and again through history’s storms — a perfect place to reflect on Angé’s strength and the strength of all those who fight, love, and endure.

The Coastal Way: Sand, Sea, and Silence
From Porto, I’ll follow the Camino da Costa, the coastal route, where the sound of waves will keep me company. Fishing villages, endless beaches, and ocean cliffs will frame my steps. Towns like Viana do Castelo, with its grand basilica overlooking the Atlantic, will offer moments of peace and perspective.

I’ll plant sunflowers in sandy soil near the sea, hoping the breeze scatters their seeds far and wide. Each planting will feel like sending a message of love across the waves — to Angé, and to all who need it.

Into Spain: The Final Stretch
Crossing into Spain, I’ll pass through A Guarda, where the Camino hugs the coast, and through the Galician heartland, where green hills roll gently under wide skies.

Pontevedra and Padron will mark my final days on the path. These towns, with their quiet squares and ancient stone churches, will remind me that this journey is not just mine — it’s part of a much older, shared pilgrimage of hope and remembrance.

And at last, Santiago de Compostela, with its towering cathedral, will welcome me at journey’s end. I’ll plant my final sunflower here, in a city that has seen countless pilgrims arrive, weary but full of purpose.

Walking Together
Throughout this journey, I’ll share my progress, reflections, and photos on the blog and on Facebook. I hope you’ll walk with me in spirit:

👉 Follow along at angeforsunflowers.com/blog

👉 Plant a sunflower of your own, wherever you are. Share your photo. Tell your story. Together, let’s fill the world with sunflowers for those we remember and those we love.

Every step I take is for Angé. Every sunflower I plant is for all of us. Thank you for being part of this journey.