A Thousand Miles

There was one way to honor her brother and relieve her grief. It began with a single step

- Denise Valuk

“I ’m going to walk a thousand miles by the end of the year,” I announced to my mom as I poured myself a glass of water. I had just come back from my Friday-morning hike, all sweaty and hot. Mom was watching my younger sons, Caleb and Cooper. She usually watched the boys on Fridays.

“Really? How many miles have you gone so far?” she asked, eyebrows raised. She sounded a bit dubious. I couldn’t blame her. I checked the hiking app on my phone. It was mid-May, and I had been walking regularly since the beginning of the year.

“Three hundred fifteen,” I said, trying to keep my voice confident. “Only another 685 miles to go!”

Frankly, the fact that I’d gotten this far was a miracle. I was 44 years old and totally out of shape. I hadn’t exercised in years. But walking was something I knew I had to do. If for no other reason, I had to do it for my baby brother, Wayne.

Wayne had been killed in a car accident the previous September. He was only 37. We’d been very close. His death had plunged me into a deep depression. I didn’t eat right. Slept poorly. Barely made it outside most days. My husband, Billy, was patient and supportive, but eventually I accepted that I had to do something to help myself. But what? What could I do?

In January, Billy and I had driven to a state park to celebrate our twenty third wedding anniversary. I had suggested we hike up a small mountain to mark the occasion. I couldn’t even tell how that thought got in my head. Yet it seemed right. Billy agreed. We walked together in silence. I thought about how much Wayne would have loved being on the trail with us. He and I had been raised camping, hunting and fishing. Being close to nature made me feel close to him, even if I was huffing and puffing with each step.