Absence Makes the Nose Grow Longer

I have been thinking a lot about absence lately.  I find myself, as we come up on a decade of life without my brother, reflecting on all the things that are now missing from our family life.  I am also preparing to be absent from my normal life and routines for forty days on the Camino de Santiago.  Michele is getting pretty tired of being reminded by just about everyone, how hard that is going to be, even if they mean well and are trying to be supportive.  I am beginning to believe that my walking is going to be the easier part of this equation.
It is an anxious thing to think of all the things that won't happen if you're not there.  On the other hand, it's humbling to know that life is somehow going to manage to go on without you, which creates a kind of anxiety all it's own, especially when you consider your "professional" sphere of life.  No one wants to feel like they're easily replaced.  I keep trying to look at this pilgrimage with the widest angle that I can; thinking about it as a growing experience, where I will learn things about myself and my place in the various arenas of life through temporarily disappearing from them.
The voyage of self discovery angle is old and worn enough that it can easily be overdone though.  The vision quest, the walkabout, the various solitary pilgrimages made by real people and characters in books don't really deal much with the absences created by the departure of the hero.
I'm feeling a little bit more anxious about my absence than I am about journey.  I'm worried about how Michele and the kids are going to get along without me, though I know that they will.  I have though about stupid things like mowing the lawn and walking the dog.  And let's not even get into the church stuff.  I've got preachers lined up, and I trust in the ability of the leaders of this church, but man, there's a lot of stuff that could happen and I can't just swoop back from the Camino to save the day.  It's my issue really, I know it, it's all my ego and the part of me that wants to feel unique and irreplaceable.  That's what I have to grow through before I ever get on that plane.
In the Odyssey, Odysseus returns from his adventures to find that there are suitors infesting his house and courting his wife, interlopers trying to take advantage of his supposed demise.  Penelope has managed to hold them at bay, but they're still eating up the resources of the house.  I always kind of wondered why it was that he didn't just stroll through the door and tell them all to beat feet, but I am seeing that perhaps they are the first and last anxiety that needs to be conquered on a journey, they are the fears of absence, they are all the things that might go wrong.  And they need to be resisted and slain every bit as much as the sirens or the cyclops.
I think that's why so many epic journeys are made out of necessity, because of all the things that want to keep you from leaving your front door in the first place.  After all, Tolkien's Hobbits would not be half as sympathetic characters if it wasn't for the constant longing they have just to be back home.  If it wasn't for the sense of sacrifice of the journey, they would just be gluttonous little mercenaries who are really more trouble than they're worth.  It is the wrestling with absence that is the pathos of the story.
But what of absence that is permanent?  What of the heroes that never again cross the threshold of their homes?  Then as well, absence is the thing, the negative space of what perhaps should have been but was not.  What do we do with that?
What do we do when we must live through a tragedy instead of an epic adventure?
We spend our time poking about the edges of what might have been.  We must give that absence it's space, because to deny it is only to make it that much stronger.
My faith tradition assures me that the experience of the one who departs is rather more pleasant than the experience of the ones left behind.  As time goes by, I'm not sure I find that entirely comforting, especially as it relates to my absence from home while I'm doing this Camino.
If I 'm going to put the ones I care about through such grief, however temporary it may be, I'm going to have to do what I can to make it worthwhile.  And I suppose this is where it starts, acknowledging that all is not a brave adventure, admitting that I know about the vacancy that I will leave in my family, acknowledging that I am not as important as I may think I am, but I'm still important enough that I will be missed.  I need to remember that faithful waiting is as strong a thing as boldly walking, and appreciate all that I leave behind, not just because I love them, but because they love me, and thus there will be the presence of an absence when I am gone.