On this day three years ago I had dreamed half the night. The dream of my mother and I trying to save a dying child. Each time I woke up shocked by the dream, I would go back to sleep and dream the exact same scene…3 times until I could no long sleep. I waited until sunrise and called the nursing home to ask how my mother was. The nurse said, « Viens vite, il ne lui reste plus grand temps.»
I no longer had a car since the fall and called a taxi. It was snowing lightly and it was very cold. The sky was so grey and morbid. I talked all the way down with the taxi driver. His mother had recently passed…
She used every means to get me by her side…I will be forever thankful and she passed a little after midnight…
you poked me
I was by your side
one last time …you looked at me
passing to the other side
embraced by your soothing voice
telling me each time
I love you darling –
don’t forget your Hail Mary’s
never too old
j’suis toujours ton bébé
miss you Mom…
He lived a humble life alone…a niece or a nephew here and there brought sunshine to his life…his offspring found no time, nor care to watch the sunset by his side. Before he reached this tranquil life, he’d tested his boundaries, stretching the elastics of addictions. Too many “last calls” and rolling dice and flirting reckonings from the meanest loan sharks. Like a cat, he had at least eight lives.
After umpteenth losses, he faced illness and disability, rooming in the most modest abode…a small room among others slightly different yet much the same; not in any kind of bed and breakfast, yet three fixed meals a day.
rags to riches
to borrowed rags.
Last week, he went for a stroll. Waiting at the corner for the light to change, he steps down the curb leaning on his cane, minding his own business like he’s done all his life…
meeting his maker
with a BANG
smell of burnt rubber
wail of niece and nephew
maman et papa
sisters and big brothers
show the way
most unusual racetrack
with perpetual winnings
This is in honour of my uncle, after hearing the news I received today about his sudden death …my mother’s brother.
If you talk to a man in a language he understand, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart. –Nelson Mandela
How can I not write something on this date November 15th. Je m’en souviens all too well. Sure I have mixed feelings being of two cultures and embracing both. My mother, being French Québecois has always said she was a bilingual Canadian. She has never shared the vengeance and yet she has surely experienced the unfairness and the disrespect all too often.
My father, being of Irish and Welsh background, his maternal grandfather settled here due to his Irish Catholic background but his father being of the mindset of English is best allowed me to feel the humiliation for my mother.
French speaking persons in the 50’s and 60’s could not get decent work if they did not speak fluent English and even then, it was difficult to rise in a company carrying a French name. How this has changed dramatically today!
I understand the need for change. One must be mindful, when the pendulum swings too much and stays there, it turns justice into resentment and vengeance. And being of these two cultures, I have too often been on the fence carrying the sins of my ancestors.
in the making
a new government is born
Vivre le Québec Libre
français shall rule
laws to preserve their language
change well past due
years of oppression
fuels their passion
the pendulum swings