Bridges

SYDNEY — Every year since 2005, thousands across New South Wales state walk 28 kilometers around this city, crossing seven bridges, to raise funds for a cancer charity. They follow a course that loops the villages where the bridges are located.

This year the organizers, the Cancer Council, made some adjustments to the 7 Bridges Walk in view of the pandemic. For everyone’s safety and in compliance with restrictions, they gave participants the option to walk the distance within their neighborhood parks or beaches, at their own pace, in one day or over the next six days.

Many participants still did the challenge on the designated day, Oct. 25. Among them were members of a Fil-Aussie choir based in Our Lady of Dolours Parish in Sydney’s Lower North Shore. Mostly in their 30s and 40s, they named their team Walkanda Forever (a play on the “Black Panther” salute). Three enlisted a family member—a wife, a sister, and a 66-year-old mother: me.

I have been stranded here since mid-March. With Australia’s border closed and my airline’s international flights suspended well into the first quarter of 2021, my three-week annual visit with my daughter has stretched to three seasons.

This unexpected turn of events presented an unprecedented opportunity to savor longer mother-daughter quality time, with our roles reversed. To her, my being here in her care is the best protection she can provide.

(Australia ranks among the top countries on its handling of the pandemic.)

Still, I think about home and my 93-year-old mother whose failing mind cannot grasp the situation. Every now and then she would ask my sister, who’s holding the fort, when I will return. Lately, she has stopped asking.

On the eve of the bridge walk, my sister and I had a particularly emotional phone conversation. I thought of backing out, but decided I could use the distraction. It was also a chance to take to the next level my daily 45-60-minute stroll around the neighborhood, a practice I’ve established to stay physically and mentally well.

The day of the walk was forecast to be wild and wet, so our team set a modest goal. We could cover half of the course, or, say, three bridges, then finish the rest on Saturday.

Crossing the bridges was easy enough, the hike from one to the next was more challenging. We traversed paths ranging from smooth residential neighborhood pavements to rough bushwalking tracks.

My daughter kept pace with me, as we let the others walk ahead. Occasionally, someone would ask about “Tita” or stop at a corner to wait for me, particularly when we approached an uphill stretch, or even hold an umbrella for me.

By mid-afternoon, the weather had grown worse. But we forged ahead, flipping umbrellas, ripped plastic ponchos, drenched jackets, soaked shoes, and all.

The hike to the final bridge posed the highest level of difficulty, as it would take an hour and 45 minutes. Midway, while sheltering outside a shop closed for the day, we decided to take transportation the rest of the way.

As in life, there’s a time to be fearless, and a time to be sensible.

Before the Angelus hour we had ascended the “finale,” the famed Sydney Harbour Bridge, tired, doused, but exuberant.

According to the 7 Bridges Walk website, the event drew 717 teams and 6,836 walkers, raising AU$617,143 as of this writing. The funds will go to research, advocacy, and prevention campaigns, and support for patients and their families.

A lifesaver for those battling the disease, the event is also life-affirming for those who come together to extend a helping hand, a gesture reminiscent of the loop shape of the walking course.

The experience becomes even more meaningful when we think of a bridge and the purpose it serves, and relate it to one of the most heartbreaking crises spawned by COVID-19 — the physical separation from loved ones.

To our teammates alone, checking up on families in the Philippines can be a disquieting duty. One of the girls, for instance, has learned that her parents, a sister and her husband and children tested positive; same with another girl’s close friend and his family.

One fellow has a wife back home undergoing dialysis. The chorister’s wife, herself a cancer survivor, is eager to see her family, if only to reassure them she’s doing well following a mastectomy not too long ago.

The two sisters are concerned that their mother, who’s also stranded here, away from her husband, has decided to book a sweeper flight home. And then there’s me and my daughter and my mother.

The pandemic has magnified our daily struggles, forced us to make difficult, life-changing choices. As we take one day at a time, we look to one another for support and succor.

More than a sense of accomplishment, the bridge walk rewards the participant with renewed courage and a stronger faith in the human spirit.

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Angelina G. Goloy worked in the Inquirer, also in Times Journal and Daily Globe (both defunct), and is now consultant in a telco.