Live an authentic life!

Day 7 Camino Frances

“This life isn’t a dress rehearsal, it’s the real thing, so live each day like it may be your last.” – Anon

“I creep quietly down our hallway, moving silently past my mum’s open bedroom door where I see her lying in silent agony in her bed. I feel incredibly guilty because I don't have the courage to go in and say ‘hi’ to her just now… I just can't face the cancer that is slowly eating her away before my very eyes.”

No one gets out of life alive.

Recently I was shocked but not surprised to hear the sad news that much loved NZ radio and TV personality Simon Barnett 's dear wife Jodi had lost her 5 1/2 year battle with brain cancer.

Every weekday morning for many years my wife and I would enjoy tuning into the Breakfast Show on 91 More FM here in Christchurch. Talkback hosts Simon and raconteur Gary McCormick would wax lyrical about life, and the current goings on in Christchurch and New Zealand.

They were always intelligent, honest, fun, thought provoking and broadcast with integrity.

Simon Barnett

Simon was always upfront about being a practising Christian. He didn't ‘play to the gallery’ he was just very down to earth and honest about this obviously important part of his life.

Often emotional he really wore his heart on his sleeve, and would sometimes have one of his four daughters phone into the show. As listeners we shared vicariously in much of his family life over the years. He constantly expressed his love for his wife Jodi. But like Fran Walsh, Peter Jackson's lifetime partner, Jodi stayed out of the limelight while Simon basked in it.

In 2015 Simon competed in New Zealand 's TV show Dancing With The Stars where every week various famous (in NZ) contestants would have to perform two new ballroom dances which they had been practising all the previous week.

Simon lives in my hometown Christchurch and I had the good fortune to be the sound recordist on the TV crew that was filming his practice week, plus shooting some background footage about him for that TV show.

Me & Simon during filming

So, during filming we met with Simon and his beautiful wife Jodi to record them together in a romantic setting wandering around a Christchurch garden with swans, a small lake and a gorgeous little curved footbridge. They made such a lovely couple, and I was touched at the time by the obvious love they held for each other.

With Jodi's belief in him, and her constant and unwavering encouragement, Simon went on to win that year's Dancing With The Stars.

But, just three years later his near perfect life was shattered when Jodi suffered a massive seizure at their home, was rushed to hospital and was eventually diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.

Jodi then defied the doctor's expectations by going on to live for another 5 1/2 years, thanks it seems to the absolute, selfless love she was enveloped with from Simon and her four adult daughters, along with their abiding faith.

But only just a week ago Jodi Barnett, matriarch of the family and soulmate to Simon, finally passed away surrounded by her loving family at home. Simon and his daughters are devastated. Plus there's been a massive outpouring of love and condolences from thousands of Kiwis all around New Zealand.

Her recently published obituary begins: “On October 2, 2023, Jodi went home to be with her Heavenly Father, aged 61 years.”

An article published in The New Zealand Herald states; “… People say to him (Simon) that God or Jesus “is just a crutch” but he says it's bigger than that – “he's a hospital”… “

Cancer, the big C is responsible for one-in-five deaths globally, second only to heart disease.

When I was a young teenager my own mum, my rock and constant centre of our family was diagnosed with cancer.

Every so often she would make the five-hour journey by car from Picton to Christchurch to get hospital radiation treatment, which did prolong her life but came with life-changing side effects.

Slowly her full-figured body, usually so full of joy, began to shrink before my eyes, and there was often a faraway sadness behind her valiantly smiling eyes.

I was away at a high school camp down the Marlborough Sounds when the phone call came… “you’d better get home as soon as possible… she doesn't have much longer… “

I rushed home to find mum lying semi-conscious in her bed in a morphine-induced cloud, surrounded by dad, my siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and other close family.

She looked just so frail… so much like she would easily break if moved. I just stared at her in numb silence. My 17-year-old brain was struggling to take on board the certainty and full impact of… “she's dying…”. I thought back ashamedly to the times I had crept silently past her open bedroom door rather than just going in and saying “hi mum… I love you”.

After a time as I stood there looking at her, she finally took her last breath, and then she was gone… instantly, like a light switch being turned off. One second I was looking at my breathing, living, silently struggling, dearly loved mum… and then before me the very next second was an empty shell, a carcass… because whatever soul or spirit she possessed had now departed, gone, moved elsewhere, and what was left was only the remnants, the bodily remains.

My aunties almost immediately, quietly and with knowing, confident and loving hands, gently closed her eyes and put large coins on her eyelids, then calmly closed her mouth and placed a strip of cloth under her jaw and knotted it securely over the top of her head. This all seemed pretty surreal to me at the time, but I realised later that this was to keep her eyes and mouth closed before rigor mortis would set in.

Mum was laid out in all her finery in an open coffin at home, where she remained for several days so family and friends could come and pay their respects before her funeral was held.

Strangely I've never been afraid of death. To me death is just part of life. Many believe that death is the end, the final curtain, and that there's nothing afterwards. I believe that death is just one point along an endless continuum, where we each just move from one state of being to another, different state. This belief in my soul or spirit fills me with peace.

Day 7 Los Arcos to Viana 26 May 18.4 km (11.4 miles)

I had planned to walk to the city of Logrono today, Saturday but I've just found out that a big military parade is being held in that city this weekend, so all the albergues are already booked out. Thus, my plan now is to walk to Viana, which is 9 km this side of Logrono. This also put paid to my planned Sunday rest day in Logrono, so now I will do three 18-19 km walking days instead of two 28.5 km days with a rest day between.

I talk to my wife Renata and friend ‘Queen’ Judy on Messenger while finishing my breakfast cuppa. The kitchen is getting very noisy so I take my phone outside amongst the wet streets of Los Orcos. Birds chirp while keen pilgrims are embarking, all hunkered down in their wet weather cover-all ponchos looking a little like bedraggled camels.

Renata brings me up to date with some of the news from home, but mainly I try to entertain the ladies with some of my Spanish exploits.

I don my rain jacket and head off under an ominously dark sky, trying to avoid the many puddles as the rain lightly falls...and falls...and falls.

After 8 kms I reach the small settlement of Torres de Rio where the unusual octagonal church is thought to be associated with the Templar Knights.

I enjoy a fresh orange juice, cafe con leche and a small sandwich while thunder rolls in and the heavens open, dumping a deluge on the resolute pilgrims who grimly carry on rather than seeking a refuge break in my nice dry cafe haven.

I change my sopping wet top for a dry one, chat to a Belgium guy, and enjoy a second round of orange juice and coffee while I wait for the rain to stop.

Eventually it does and I head off, all rugged-up head to toe in my not-so-cheap wet weather gear.

After a kilometre I strip off this now extraneous hot, long gear and carry on feeling far more comfortably in shorts and a top.

Thunder lurks around the faraway hills as the track winds gently up and down...and fortunately I don't get wet anymore.

I can hear the guns and planes of the distant military display taking place in Logrono, where the King must be proudly witnessing his Spanish military might.

I arrive in Viana at 12.15pm, check into my albergue, enjoy my full throttle hot massaging shower, organise my laundry, then head off into the centre of town to explore, and find a beer.

Viana has beautiful old alleys lined with shops, apartments, cafes and colourful balcony flower displays.

I dry out my soggy diary and chill out for a while...as another thunderous downpour cleanses the town's streets.

My learning for today:

When someone criticises me, let it just fall off me like water off a duck's back.

Goodnight, and much love and gratitude from New Zealand.