Joshua, my love?—
If you were here, you’d hate the mud but love the quiet. You’d walk beside me, maybe humming, maybe silent. Either way, your presence would be enough.
I ache for the sound of your voice, the scent of your skin, the feel of your arms around me. My soul’s been holding its breath since I left. I don’t think it’ll exhale until I’m with you again.
I feel:
A little less haunted. The silence isn’t sharp today—it’s space, not absence. I think… maybe that’s progress. Maybe Icanplay the hand I’m dealt.
Day Eleven – Rathkeale → Newcastle West
Distance: 12 mi
Route Notes:Follows the Great Southern Trail through farmland and pockets of woodland. Passes disused rail platforms, ivy swallowing old iron gates.
Location Reflection– Newcastle West:
Stopped at a tiny shop for tea and bread rolls. The woman behind the counter asked where I was headed and nodded like she’d known the answer all along. There’s a castle ruin here, just off the main square. I sat on a bench across from it and let the quiet settle in my bones.
Journal:
The inn I’d planned on was full, so I slept in a copse of trees by a field. Cold. Damp. But the stars… my God. I’d forgotten how many there are—like someone tipped a bucket of diamonds across the sky.
I remember:
One night in Shenandoah, miles from anywhere. We pulled off the road and lay on the hood of the car, watching the stars.He laced our fingers together and whispered, “Even if everything else disappears… this is enough. You. Me. And the stars.”
I see:
A man walking with a border collie at his side. He nodded as we passed. No questions, just: “Sure, what better day for the walking, eh?”
And he was right. It was.
God, I love the Irish.
I feel:
Stronger. My legs don’t ache like before. My pack feels lighter, though nothing’s changed inside it.
And Sarah?—
I’ve carried her death like proof of my own failure. Believed suffering was the only way to balance the scales. Even shutting Joshua out felt like a price I had to pay.
But she didn’t die because I failed her. She died because she was a brave, stubborn warrior who ran toward danger when others would have run away.
I hate that she’s gone. I always will. But I won’t dishonor her by making her death about me anymore. I’ll honor her by living in a way she’d respect.
If I’m quiet, I can almost hear her laugh. Not angry. Not blaming. Just Sarah.
And for the first time, that thought doesn’t break me.
Maybe my grief is shedding its bark.
I’m heading toward Killarney. Not rushing it. The walking is part of it—maybe the best part.
But Josh…
Oddly, the ache for him is sharper now. Like a pointed stick lodged in my chest.
