My Biological Mother (Bio Mum), who now call herself Dominique, was born May 31^st, 1954 to a father with a Swiss father & English mother, and a mother who had a French from France father and a Native Canadian mother.  She was born in Chicoutimi, Quebec. When asked about her childhood she will tell you that she’s sure there must have been some good memories from when she was small but that she can’t really remember any of them because they are so easily weighed down by the negative memories.

Speaking French at home and English in school, her family moved from army base to army base all over the country, every two years. One of her earliest memories is of being in grade one and having already read every single Hardy Boys and every single Nancy Drew Novel in the whole classroom. …and then they moved, again. Making friends was difficult for Dominique as each new base would mean having to start over. She felt very alone, a lot of the time. The houses were the same each time – small, dark, dreary, military houses. She remembers arriving in Portage La Prairie Manitoba around the time she was 8 or nine and the house being dark and awful, wall paper peeling and her parents fighting all the time.  Dominique had a brother who was 11 months younger and two sisters who were also younger but she is still not sure by how many years.

Dominique recalls her parents as being very immature. Neither seemed happy being a parent. Both spent a lot of time blaming others for their misfortunes, and loudly and aggressively blaming each other. She says she eventually left home simply because “it was not a very nice place to live.”

In 1963, at 9 ½ years old, Dominique was playing at the rec center on the military base watching her physical education teacher and his friend practice music on the theatre stage.  They took her, alone, to the back of the hall where there was a small dark closet, and both raped her.  She ran home and told her parents. Her father called her a whore, and her mother did absolutely nothing at all. She remembers her father saying she was going to turn out just like his sisters. At nine and a half she had no idea what he meant.  Today at 54, she still doesn’t. Her parents took her to a doctor who said she was going to be fine. The two soldiers were transferred to another military base…

Dominique started running away from home.

She has a hard time remembering anything from the time she was 12 to the time she was 16. She does remember getting picked up by the police a lot and they would bring her back to the house with the peeling wallpaper.  One policeman put her in a small cell with no lights and left her there all night. She said that was horrible because she was so scared of dark small places. She still doesn’t like getting on an elevator without holding someone’s hand. She still has nightmares about the rape.

Dominique says in retrospect her mother really was a child with a child. Both of her parents were immature. Her mother was unhappy and very critical. She spent a lot of time telling her children what they weren’t very good at. You’re no good with your hands, you can’t sew…

Dominique says she always wanted to draw and paint but she never did because her mother told her she was no good with her hands.

In the late sixties Dominique was sleeping outside the parliament buildings in Winnipeg listening to live bands, smoking pot and doing LSD. She says she was too young for the scene, but she was really into it. Every now and then she’d get picked up and carted back to Portage La Prairie and that awful house. In 1971, when Dominique was turning 17, she met her next door neighbor (alias baby maker) a Romanian, French speaking 27 year old. He was nice to her. She said it wasn’t hard to pick up a young girl by being nice to her …when no one else is thinking about her. In the early spring of 1972 Dominique realized she was pregnant. She immediately stopped taking drugs and started taking care of herself, distancing herself from my birth father. He had just had a baby with another woman a few months earlier, and immediately after Dominique found out she was pregnant… he got one of my mother’s friends pregnant as well.  She went home and told her parents the news. That was the last time she saw her father for thirty five years.

She travelled to Winnipeg to stay with a girlfriend. When it became apparent that she was going to need some help looking after herself she admitted herself into a Catholic home for wayward girls. The feeling, the emotion she felt during the entire pregnancy was being completely alone. She was very, very lonely. No one came to visit her during her entire pregnancy. She said she did go to a place where she could have had an abortion… but it was a dreary miserable day and she felt like that this was nature’s way of telling her, no this isn’t for you, you need to give this baby up for adoption.

On August 25^th 1972 only seven months into her pregnancy, a 17 year old Dominique, completely alone and away from home, went into early labour. She got home and the Nuns handed her her suitcase and told her to walk to the hospital. One Nun pointedly explained to her that she was “paying for her sins.” Dominique had a fast and easy labour and I arrived, all four pounds of me. She held me for a minute until they asked the question and found out she was giving me up. Then they whisked me away to an incubator in the nursery and whisked Dominique away to a room for unwed mothers… far away from the other mother (so she wouldn’t contaminate the nice mother’s space). She says that was hard, that really was hard. Dominique snuck in through the back door and through the kitchens into the nursery a couple of times just to make sure I was okay. She says that if I had been blind or handicapped she would have kept me. She wrote a letter to me explaining why she gave me up, and asked that I not be placed in a family with ties to the military. The letter disappeared.

Dominique made one last journey back to Portage to see her mother. Her mother had finally left her father and was living with a new boyfriend. At first glance Dominique knew right away she was staying nowhere near this boyfriend, so she packed her bags and left Manitoba. Her two younger sisters were both raped by the boyfriend. She took a plane to Edmonton and found an advertisment in the paper there for a job in the Yukon. She spent from 1972 to 1979 working and travelling all across Northern Canada, moving from place to place, never staying anywhere too long, never taking welfare and never owing anyone anything – two facts she is extremely proud of.  She changed her name to Dominique in an attempt to forget the past and sever ties with her family. She didn’t contact her mother for five years and her mother never tried to find her. She worked most of the time as a waitress, reading voraciously and learning everything she could.

In 1979 in Notre Dame du Nord, in a small bar attached to the restaurant where she worked, Dominique met Michel. They talked endlessly, loved the same books and the same music (Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Felix LeClerc, Pink Floyd). In 1982 they decided to get married…for two years. Dominique has always had difficulty making and keeping long term relationships ever since her days moving from military base to military base. After two years they renegotiated and have been married now for 26 years. Dominique lost a child after she and Michel were married but then had a son on November 9^th 1984, and another (who she calls her little bit of scotch tape, because he was so cuddly) on August 30^th 1988. Being a good mother has been a passion, a calling and true joy for Dominique. She has spent her motherhood creating a stable and loving home for her boys. They still chat every night with Michel by e-mail while Dominique says hi from the background (she hates computers).

In 1999,on August 25^th, my 25^th birthday, my husband Bob and I flew to Montreal and met Dominique for the first time. I had never seen a picture of her and had no idea what she would look like. When we arrived at Dorval Airport there she was at the bottom of the escalator doing this hand gesture, and there I was at the top doing exactly the same thing. I brought her a painting of a blueberry bush that I had painted and titled in French for some inexplicable reason. Blueberries (along with wine) are one of her favorite foods. She asked me about the painting and seemed incredibly curious about the fact that I painted. We spent three days together, talking, talking, talking; we walked around art galleries and talked more; I met her sons; I met her mother who looked like she had lived a thousand years on caffeine and nicotine; we looked at photos; and then we went on our way.  It was such a comfortable visit, like meeting a long lost friend.

That year Dominique took up painting. She made over 300 oil paintings that year alone. She is still taking painting and drawing classes. She’s amazing. She is starting to develop her own style, and freakily enough she and I have actually painted the same painting…without ever having talked about it. She also wants to learn how to use pastels so that she can sketch when her and Michel are camping…the oil paints are too much, too much to pack!!

When I started working on this I realized there were a lot of questions I didn’t know the answers to, so I started to ask them. She wishes she could have stayed in school and finished journalism. She wants to travel more, and she can’t wait to be a grandmother. Her nickname instead of being called Gran Mere is Dodo.  She would like to meet my daughter Vivian someday. Her favorite piece of jewelry is her wedding ring…which was actually a 25^th wedding anniversary gift because she and Michel didn’t have enough money to buy wedding rings for each other when they married. The only thing she still has from when she was a girl is a collection of books, old and yellow and falling apart, which she loves. She says they helped her escape from reality when she was a little girl.

Dominique’s mother died in April 2006, having been on welfare for most of the later years of her life.  Dominique says she tried to help her out as best she could…but her mother didn’t really take good care of herself.  After 35 years of no contact, her father suddenly showed up on her doorstep and asked if he could stay for a few days. Dominique said yes… and says instantly all of her anger dissolved. All she could see standing on her step was an old, old stranger.  An old man she didn’t know. I asked if she ever tried to talk to her mother or father about her childhood. She said yes, she did, but her mother would just dissolve in tears and run away. She said, “Anyway, really, ehhhh… the present is so much more important than the past.”

Nancy Daley was born in Magnetawan, Ontario on July 30, 1924. Although the population of Magnetawan briefly ballooned above 300 with the birth of her five siblings, it has remained solidly a “village”, relegated to a humble, yet proud small town status in rural Ontario about an hour south of North Bay. Her father, Tom Daley met his future wife one summer while delivering vegetables by canoe on Ahmic Lake. Nancy’s mother Lydia had ventured to Canada’s lake country from Pittsburg to take a summer job as help. At 16, she fell in love with both Tom and Canada. Together they built a family, a sawmill and hydroelectric business, and nurtured family connections that have remained strong to this day. While Nancy’s father Tom was a small town rural boy to the core, her mother Lydia, emigrated from Czechoslovakia to the United States with her family, following her father, a University professor. The threaded connection to Europe and close ties to family in the US was a strong influence on Nancy growing up. Cousins from Pennsylvania arrived each summer to spend time with the Daley’s in Magnetawan. The family home burst with activity, and at its nucleus was Nancy’s Mom Lydia, cooking, baking and singing. Nancy was one of three sisters and three brothers. Together the girls shared a bedroom, as did the boys.  She spent her summers canoeing and camping, and her winters playing hockey on the lake, skiing and tobogganing. Much of her formative years were during the 1930s, a time of economic hardship. It was an existence humble by today’s standards indeed, but to hear her describe it, it seemed she wanted for little. They were a close family, and continue to nurture those ties through regular phone calls across the miles between siblings.

Nancy attended elementary school in Magnetawan, and high school in Burks Falls. She was a natural born teacher, and indeed this love became her life calling. She worked as a teacher in a one-room schoolhouse in Chapman Valley, and several other small rural schools, prior to actually receiving formal Teachers College training. For a brief period she ventured off to the big city of Toronto, receiving office training, and worked for IBM. But she returned to northern Ontario toward the end of the war, and reveled in the social aspects, as did many young women her age, of having air force men from afar visit town on their leaves from war. It was a surreal time filed with music, dance halls, and young adults teetering between the possibilities of death and having the time of their life.

Although a suitor emerged, Nancy seemed determined to set her own agenda, and wanted to pursue a career and a life of independence prior to committing to a family. This trait, which distinguished her from her female peers at the time, emerged as a defining influence in her life. Nancy has always been an independent, self-sufficient woman. She worked her entire life because she wanted to. And she loved it. She became a successful teacher in her 20’s, teaching grades 1-7. She obtained training in special education and speech therapy and was a teacher at numerous schools within her district. She became school principal in her 30’s.

Nancy met my father John Holborn in her late 20’s while teaching in Keswick, Ontario. They married in 1952, but it wasn’t until she was 39, that she had her first, and only child, a daughter they named Mary. John was handsome and19 years her senior. It was an age difference that only came to define and somewhat divide them in their later years. The 19-year spread also meant that when her daughter started kindergarten, her husband was ready to retire. They did what was necessary at the time, and what for Mary always seemed normal. It was only in hindsight that Nancy appeared the maverick and John the exceedingly practical partner. He stayed at home, did the cooking, cleaning and housework. She went off to work, earning the family’s income. Few women in the 1960’s worked, and even fewer were the sole income earners for their upper-middle class families. Nancy was a generation ahead of herself.

Growing up with such a powerful and empowered female influence had a profound influence on how I have chosen to live my own life. I witnessed first hand what it is like to pursue your passion and life calling. I learned at an early age that women buy property and investments and can do well financially. I watched Nancy reward herself with sports cars, boats, vacation properties and holidays with family and close female friends. Although there were certainly times when her superhero cape flew off, she did a fine job balancing her role as career girl and Mom.

Nancy lived in the Keswick and Sutton, Ontario area for 50 years, prior to moving to West Vancouver in 1999. Because she worked outside the home, she joined the “working girls” groups at the curling rink and the church. These women were of a generation that did work outside the home, so she found herself networked in a group of women 10-15 years younger than herself. Forming close friendships with younger women helped her maintain a youthful outlook throughout life. I remember her taking numerous ski holidays to Austria, France, Quebec and Western Canada with groups of women friends. I joined the ski ladies in Lake Louise one year, after I had moved to Vancouver. They sure loved to ski hard, eat well and laugh a lot. I could see why she enjoyed it so much.

In addition to taking to the slopes, Nancy was a speed demon behind the wheel of her red boat at the cottage on Ahmic Lake. She summered there with family and recharged her batteries for the coming year. She was happiest behind the wheel, wearing her captain’s hat, towing waterskiing kids. Of course an instructional demo was usually called for and she happily obliged.

At 48 Nancy underwent surgery to fuse two discs in her neck and remove a bone spur. It was a final attempt to stop what had been relentless pain. She had stared down the risk of paralysis, and emerged victorious. Nancy watched her own mother die far too young of breast cancer at 52, and she herself cheated cancer at 51 following a diagnosis of seriously progressed bowel cancer and successful surgery. Remarkably, she remains cancer free 36 years later. Addressing mortality in mid life helped her define how she would choose to live from that point on. She chose to travel, reengage past passions and discover new experiences.

Nancy retired from teaching when I was in 2nd Year University. The stress of the job had began to take a toll on her health, and it was only in her last 6 months of teaching did I first witness a woman who had fallen out of love with what she was doing. She worked hard and long, and retired at 60. But as she was quick to note, she became very busy in retirement, volunteering in her community. The change re-invigorated her. It was a time in her life to give back, and she did.

At 70 Nancy learned to fly ultra-light airplanes and pursue her pilot’s license. Soaring with the birds above Lake Simcoe, she saw both her community and her life from a different perspective. She bought her first pair of rollerblades that same year and skated the streets of Sutton regularly for exercise. She brazenly decided to visit former teaching staff one day, and skated through the hall of one of her old schools. The initial reprimand by the principal was repealed once they realized who it was. Although she was always one to teach by example, she quickly pointed out that she was now retired.

Nancy once famously brought a bottle of wine to a bible study group. The invitation had read BYOB, which she realized upon arrival meant bring your own bible. She of course had that too. I suspect it was one of the better meetings the group had that year.

Following graduation from University in 1987, I drove west to visit friends I had made while travelling abroad, and never returned. I’ve made Vancouver and the north shore my home ever since. The bond with my mother remained strong with return trips to Ontario, but it was hard on her being separated from her only child. My father died in 1993, and although she missed the younger man she had married, she became liberated from the care he had required as he aged. In 1999, following the birth of her first grandchild, Nancy decided to move west. It was a bullish move, to pick up at 75 and move away from her extended family, friends and community of 50 years to come to Vancouver. But in a reflection of her lifelong attitude towards change and looking to the future, she declared, “I’d rather move when I’m young and able so I could make friends, than when I’m too old to bother.” So, like a young girl in her 20’s, she sold off her furniture, shipped out her treasures, and packed her car. The skis went on the roof.

Having Nancy live close by has been a blessing. She has been able to watch her grandchildren grow, and they have been able to form a bond with her. She was a godsend on many occasions, being an eager and willing helper with my young toddlers. And she did a lot of it on the flip side of her 80th birthday. At 87, age has started to take its toll, but Nancy remains as active as possible. She now lives in West Vancouver, and participates in activities at the Seniors Centre and the church. She continues to form friendships wherever she sets down.

Some of my fondest memories of Nancy are on the ice, with skates and a hockey stick in hand. At my Mother’s urging, one winter my Dad made a back yard rink. It became the focal point for the neighbourhood kids. It also enabled Nancy, to coach us all on her infamous ‘backhand’ shot. She was an oddity on the rink with the boys, but quickly gained their respect with her quick shot and skating abilities. She once took me to Maple Leaf Gardens to see the Leafs play our hero, Bobby Orr and the Bruins. It was a road trip that most would share as father and son. I guess the passion for hockey took a chromosome detour in my family.

In fact at the age of 86, Nancy helped start a floor ball league at the Seniors Centre in West Vancouver. She made quite the appearance when she first showed up sporting her Olympic team Canada jersey, with stick in hand, and a huge smile. With the recent growth of floor ball, a close cousin to floor hockey, the group uses curved fiberglass sticks and a woofle type ball. Nancy points out, “The ball goes pretty fast, a lot faster than a puck. But I suppose the good thing about that is, you really don’t have to run after it that hard. You just wait a few seconds for it to be shot back in your direction!” Although the tactics may have changed, her enthusiasm and connection to the game has not. It’s a heartwarming scene to watch.

Nancy would be the first to suggest her life is far from extraordinary. But isn’t it the collection of the mundane punctuated by pivotal events that define us all? Perhaps the single theme that characterizes my mother Nancy was the unwavering pursuit of her life passion, and the fierce independence and focus that led to her success. Her love of life, forward thinking attitude and nurturing of family and friendships has made her strong. She was a role model a generation ahead of herself.

My mom Miyoko was born in Kishiwada city in Osaka, Japan on April 28th of 1934. Her mother’s name was Mitsuko, 28 years old and her father’s name was Jitaro, 44 years old. They had a 7 year old daughter, Emiko and a 3 year old son, Akira. Her father was an internist at Momoyama Hospital in Osaka and her mother was staying home to take care of their three children.

My mom was a shy and quiet girl and she remembers she was always following her mother. She was loved by her sister and brother and they looked after their little sister well. My mom liked playing with her friends. There weren’t much candies or treats around at that time, so she enjoyed eating Manjyu which is a Japanese sweet treat which their family received as a gift from relatives from time to time.

December 8th, 1941, on the outbreak of the Second World War, lacking food, her family took their Kimono and Obi (belts) and other valuable belongings to local farmers to barter for rice and vegetables. With her mom’s small income from sewing and mending supplementing their family savings, and with her sister’s pay, they were surviving.  My mom was still young, so she didn’t know how hard it was for her family to live, but her mom and sister worked so hard for their family. My mom says now that she can’t express her appreciation enough to them. The war was getting very hard and severe in 1944, with air raids more and more often, so they moved to a small village called Tsukatsuki-mura in Wakayama (prefecture which borders Osaka) where her aunt lived.  My mom was in Grade 5. They grew their own food such as potatoes and vegetables. The war ended on August 15th, 1945, in Japan’s defeat. There were rumors at the time that “children and women have dreadful experiences in store” so she remembers she was so frightened.

In 1948, her mother fell ill and passed away in 1949. My mom was only 14 years old and had to live alone. Her older sister and brother were working in Osaka and sent her money to live on. Small parcels containing wonderful things like a girls magazine called “Friend of Girl Students (Jyoshi kousei no tomo)”, pastries, and other surprises arrived every month and she was so happy and looked forward to each parcel from her sister. She still strongly remembers those feelings.

During this time, people were still quite poor  and only about a third of children attended high school. Her sister and brother couldn’t go to high school, so they said to their little sister that she should go. They sent money to her every month continually and with a scholarship and a part-time job, she managed to graduate high school. My mom was living alone during the days and only went to her aunt’s house near by in the evenings to have a bath and sleep there at night. She waited to take her bath last and it was her responsibility to clean the bath tub before she went to bed.

On the first day of the school year at a new school, which starts in springtime, it is traditional in Japan to have a celebration ceremony and parents of course attend, but my mom’s parents had already passed away and her siblings lived far away. She attended the high school ceremony by herself and remembers tears coming to her eyes while looking at the beautiful cherry blossoms blooming, which for all the other students were a sign of spring and new life, and a fullfilling and exciting time of life.

It was about a 6 km bicyle ride to her high school and she made little English words to memorize during her bike ride to school. She made a lunch for herself every day. She remembers she felt lonely when she was coming home late at night from school from any special events.

As she worked at Nakamura, she studied hard to become  a school administrator. She had wanted to be a teacher since she was in junior high school, but since she couldn’t go to university for financial reasons, she decided to take the exam to become a school administrator and she passed . She was so lucky as this was the last intake exam for a long time and she remembers thinking that her parents were watching over her.

She started working in school administration and was happy with her job. Then in 1963, she met her husband again. Actually, my dad saw her at Wakayama City Station and he asked his friend if he could arrange to meet her again more formally. They met at my mom’s tea ceremony teacher’s house and she gave my dad a tea ceremony. She decided to marry him because he seemed nice and cheerful and she felt that she could have a happy marriage with him. Then in 1964 they got married and my mom moved to a small city, Kainan, in Wakayama where my dad was living with his parents and two younger sisiters. My mom’s life got busier, but she was happy to be with her new family. She woke up at 5:00am every morning and did laundry, made breakfast and lunch boxes for my dad’s sisters and herself.

In 1965, my mom gave a birth to a baby girl (my big sister). They named her Ikuko. The baby was very pretty and my mom was so happy. My mom was working, so she only got three months maternity and parental leave. My  mom then went back to work.

In 1967, my mom had a baby boy, Toru. Back then, giving a birth to boys was a big thing, so she was pleased to have a boy. She continued to work and in 1969, she had their third child, me. Before she gave birth to me, the doctor said to her that he was sure it’s going to be a baby boy and you will be cared for by him, but it turned out to be a girl.

My mom was still working full time. My dad was working in Osaka, so he left for work early in the morning and came home late at night. My mom did most of housework, worked full time and took care of us by herself. My grandfather was living with us until he passed away in 1981, so when we came home, he was always at home and I loved spending time with him, so I don’t remember ever feeling lonely.

My mom wanted us to have a good education, so she took us to see plays and concerts whenever she could. My favourite part was eating out after. She took us to a nice and special restaurant, sometimes it was a sushi restaurant or a western style one which had a nice water fall inside and I always ordered a mixed-fruit juice and pizza with green peppers, salami and lots of cheese.

Although she was very busy, she had a little extra money now, so she sometimes bought herself order-made clothes, piano lessons for us kids, soroban (abacus) and calligraphy lessons, volleyball , baseball and other activities. She never complained about the cost, or spoke how much money these activities took.

My mom lost her parents when she was very young, so I think she wanted to put all her love to her own children and want them to be able to do what they want to do.

My mom continued to work hard until she was 58, when she  decided to retire after her older daughter, Ikuko, went back to work after her maternity leave for her first son. Ikuko’s first son often ran a fever and couldn’t go to daycare, so Ikuko called our mother to take care of him. Back then most people retired at age 60, but my mom took early retirement to be able to help her daughter.

In 1992, for the celebration of her retirement, and also to celebrate of my upcoming University graduation, she went for a month-long trip across Canada with me as a guide. It was her first trip abroad. She was impressed with the great blue sky when she arrived at Vancouver Airport. Beautiful flowers at Buchart Gardens in Victoria, driving to Jasper and to see Emerald lake, seeing wild animals; everything was new to her and fresh feeling. We drove to Banff from Jasper and flew to Montreal, Quebec. She loved little Quebec city, talking with me , window shopping,  laughing together — precious moments and memories.

Two years before we went on that trip, I had decided to take a leave from  university and came to the University of Victoria for a year to study English. My mom told me that she couldn’t stop crying with her youngest leaving Japan and worrying her at that time . But when she saw me at the arrival gate at Osaka Airport, she saw her little girl had grown up and she still remembers what I looked like at that moment.

My mom spent several years enjoying her retirement. She enjoyed traveling within Japan and also abroad. She joined a women’s choral group, and an embroidery club, and made lots of new friends.

Her life was very fulfilling, but in 2003, she was diagnosed with stomach cancer. She was 69 years old. Her stomach was eventually surgically removed and she became quite ill. She couldn’t eat much and lived in  a hospital for five months. That summer, I went home with my first son, Aidan to see my mom. She was sitting in a bed in the hospital, so skinny, and her hair had greyed suddenly. That night when I went back to the house where my dad and mom lived and ,I grew up, I cried and cried and felt so lonely being in the house where my mom wasn’t there. I phoned the hospital to talk to my mom and asked her to come home. She didn’t cry at all and she said “Kimiko, I will come home in a couple of days to see you.” The hospital gave her a day pass to visit the house and she did that for me. She is such a strong woman and a mom.

My mom is now 77 years old. A cancer survivor, a strong woman, a wonderful mom and a person who is loved by her children, her husband, 8 grand children and friends. Even though, she is so skinny and tiny, she still enjoys singing, baking, volunteering and helping people whenever she can.

This summer I went back to Japan with my husband and three children and stayed with my parents. The last day, we had a big family gathering. There were her three children, with their  spouses, and eight grand children and her husband, a total of 16. We took a family picture and looking at it now, there she is sitting at the front left with her big and beautiful smile.

My mom had a tough life when she was young, but now she has a very happy life and wants to enjoy herself and wants to share her happiness with other people and always remembers, and reminds me, to be thankful and appreciative.

My mom and I live far apart, physically separated by distance, but we are always in each other’s heart.

My mother Margaret Stuart Cook was born  August 10th 1895 to Margaret Black Cassels Cook and Archibald Hay Cook of Quebec City and married Charles William Wiggs on March 29th 1924 in Quebec City.  They had 3 children Rosalind Stuart, Owen Ross and Margaret Gillian. Described by her brother-in-law in the Wiggs Family Record “as a quiet, demure and gracious person who had the happy faculty of always being pleasant  to everyone she met and was a devoted wife and mother.”

Born and brought up in Quebec City she attended a private girls school where she made life long friends with Irish, French  and Jewish girls. At a young age she began violin lessons and studied violin at The Bussels Academy of Music and later in New York City under a private tutor at The Julliard Shool of Music. She played with the Quebec Symphony Orchestra for  many years. On several occasions she crossed the Atlantic Ocean on steamer to attend school and later to help her sister Evelyn who lived in London .

My mother and father both spent the summer at Lake St. Joseph and we thought it very strange that they did not meet then! However my father did invite my mother and Aunt for a drive in his new model T Ford. Unfortunately he drove over some railway tracks at high speed and my mother bounced up and hit the roof of the car resulting in a broken nose! It was a standing family joke that he had to marry her after that as it “cemented” their friendship! My mother would recall that she fainted 3 times walking down the aisle of the church on her wedding day! Another incident my mother recalled (who was always a nervous driver) had the misfortune as a novice driver of failing to stop at the bottom of a steep hill and hit an oncoming car – the driver- the Mayor of New York City !

Ours was a happy childhood with summers at Lake St Joeseph where our friends were allowed to stay for weeks at a time and we enjoyed boating and swimming and sailing in my fathers sailboat. My mother would not go sailing but enjoyed our annual canoe trip! We enjoyed winter sports and sliding on The Chateau Frontenac Ice slide was a special treat! During the last years of her life she developed cancer and died August 6th 1958 never to see her grandchildren grow up-

Bessie Enwood was born on July 2, 1949, in the fishing village of Burnt Island, Newfoundland. She was the 5th child of 11 born of Hubert and Susana Enwood.  The 11 kids, from eldest to youngest were Albert, Harvey, Eva, Audrey, Bessie, Phyllis, Hubert, Golda, Marina, Bruce and Deanna.

Although my Poppy Enwood worked for the CN railway out of Port-aux-Basques (now a 20 min drive but back then it was an hour boat commute), the family had to fetch their wood and carry their own water. I’ve heard stories of annually empting the feathers out of the beds to air them out after a long winter and making quilts out of remnants of my Nan’s dresses. As the eldest got older they helped with the “youngins”. The girls shared a bed – 5 at a time. There wasn’t much complaining. Even at Christmas, the girls would share a gift or two, same for the boys. For Christmas about 10 years ago, I gave my mom her first doll, one she never had to share. It brought tears to both our eyes.

As family they would go berry picking, one of the main staples of the house, and Nan would make blueberry grunt. My Pop would haul in enough nets off his little boat to keep the family fed in off season: salting rows upon rows of salt cod, saving the cheeks for a stew, and the tongues to fry in a flour coating. Pop would also bring in mussels, wrinkles and of course lobsters, and the odd squid that found its way into the net.

Finishing her grade 8 year, Mom dropped out and moved up to Port-aux–Basques, to work as a nanny for a local business man and his wife. It was not uncommon to drop out of school to help contribute to the family. After a few years, mom found her way to St Johns, as it was said, “to the other side of the rock”. She worked for a few years for The School for the Deaf (later mom would teach us kids the basics of sign language). Although only a housekeeper there, she loved it. She became good friends with Doreen, dancing and shopping. Mom was always a keen dresser: matching purses, gloves, cute little pixie cuts and little framed glasses. She had a noticeable space between her teeth, which Dad says is a sign of wisdom. I’d ask mom to do her trick, although not classy now, she would squeeze her cigarette butt between her fingers and stick it in her gap. This was totally cool to us as youngsters.

At age 17, mom was engaged to a young RCMP constable named Chester but he liked to drink too much so that relationship faltered. She was always only an occasional drinker.

By the age of 20, mom was renting a room at an elderly couple’s home in St Johns. One afternoon, a young man called Charlie stopped by to play cards. He was their grandson and had just got back from serving 2 years in the Air Force. After a year of dating, mom headed back to Port-aux-Basques to a hospital job and found, to her surprise, a bun in the oven – me!

I was born on December 16 1971, at the Port-aux-Basques hospital. While mom worked, my Nan and Poppy Enwood took care of me. When I was 6 months old, my dad came to see me for the first time. Next thing you know, when I’m 15 months old, on the 17th of March 1973, my parents married.

My dad’s father was an underground coal miner, so when a job in Faro, Yukon came available, my grandparents took the chance and headed west. Soon after my parents took the plunge with me in tow and followed. These next 12 years would be a great chapter of our lives.

Faro was a new open pit mining community, a bustling little town, full of young families just like us. Mom and Dad settled in for the long, dark, cold winters. Mom was very popular. Never too proud for hand-me-downs, she became the neighbourhood seamstress, the lady who permed everyone’s hair, and even pierced most of the young girl’s ears. Mom and Dad became active in darts and were in every dart tournament known to man. She would spend hours in the kitchen of the legion raising money for the Ladies Auxiliary, catering for local events and weddings.

Oct 7^th, 1976, my brother Warren was born… just shy of my fifth birthday. We were blessed with great friends who had cabins out at Salmon Lake where we spent many weekends snow or shine. Three of my mom’s siblings found their way to the great white north. After another 5 years, on April 27, 1981, a last minute decision produced little Melissa Jean Samson.

I realize how strong my mother was when I recall the day Melissa was born. My dad arrived home from work around 4:30, mom had dinner ready, and we promptly ate. Mom was cleaning up when she turned to dad and said, “Charlie, it’s time to go”.  She never breathed a word about her discomfort the whole day. Dad left Warren and I at home and dropped mom off at the health centre with intentions of going back home to finish the dishes. Within an hour the phone rings. “Hello Charlaine, its Dr Long! Congratulations, your mom had a baby girl! Can I speak to your dad please?” “Sure!” I said and called out… “Dad, dad, its Dr. Long… Mom had a girl!” I was excited it had happened so soon; dad on the other hand was not. For years I thought he was mad it was a girl. I realize now just how close mom cut it. His response was an articulate “fu*# off!”

During our years in Faro, we were mighty campers – every other year we’d make the 5000 km trek across Canada, to NFLD.  Mom kept a mean camper, packed tight as can be. I remember her taking the porta potty out to put in a 5 drawer dresser, one drawer for each. Then room on top for baskets of potatoes and apples and corn. I remember our first camping trip, Melissa only weeks old, and mom made a bed for her in the clothes hamper.

The mine shut down in 1985, and we decided to head home to Port-aux-Basques. After the winter passed, and nothing looked promising in the future, we decided to head back west. After a brief stay in the Okanogan where my Nan and Poppy Samson had retired, we ended up in Tumbler Ridge. Which was great for us, half of Faro was here!

Tumbler was a great bustling mining town, newly built. Dad got an electrical position at Bullmoose Mine. He stayed on with till retirement just two years ago. Soon afterwards mom got on at the health clinic; she too stayed there until her retirement 15 years later.

Mom fell right into place like we lived there forever. Back in the legion she served on committees, catering and planning events, and carrying the flag for services. She was a regular in the kitchen, with her always so popular buns – making them by the dozens.

And she was a star dart player, playing dad in the battle of the sexes, bringing home prizes, and rubbing dad’s nose in it on Saturday mornings. They were a social bunch.  Mom could get a laugh from anyone. She’d go to celebrations and come out as a stripper. The music would be playing and then suddenly…screech to the Newfie music and on comes mom’s song: “Don’t look now, mamas got her boobs out!” Mind you she looked more like a man in drag – only 4’11” and 110 pounds with a big gap in her front teeth, wearing a long platinum wig, gaudy glasses, plastic breasts and her red spray painted Sally Anne boots. She’d make her way around the room dancing and teasing. Remember, this is a lady who cannot blame alcohol for her actions.

By now, I’m on my second marriage, this time to a woman…which my mom took pretty well. We lived in North Vancouver with our three kids; Warren settled in Grande Prairie with his fiancée and little one; Melissa settled in Dawson Creek with her three kids. While mom was retired and dad still working, mom would make her rounds and do her visits – Nanny 911was her nickname. A jack of all trades, always making curtains, painting, baking, and helping with the babies, we would fly her down this way a few times a year when my wife, Terri, would go away for business. It was always a treat – shopping, pedicures, trying sushi for the first time, a no-go; or massage, a yes.

Mom and dad would take out their RV and help my uncle Hubert build his dream cabin an hour from the highway on One Tree Lake. Mom and dad would spend many days, summer or winter there, making plans to turn the small original cabin into a home away from home. You’d always find mom sitting by the fire drinking tea and knitting facecloths and sweaters for the tribe, whilst Uncle Hubert played the guitar and they all sang Newfie songs.

Mom was ready to celebrate her 60th birthday, dad had his 65th only days later, PLUS dad was retiring. We were planning this event of the decade to be out at Uncle Hubert’s cabin. They’d just got their passports for a 6 month get away to Australia, to visit friends from the Yukon. Mom had come down that spring to spend 10 days with me. We did a surprise renovation to our bedroom, mom and I hard at work. I’ve got pictures of her trotting around with my bra on backwards and over her shirt, “let’s see if anyone notices” she says. Always a card.

With just 6 weeks till our family reunion/dads retirement/ and moms 60th and dads 65th birthday party, there was lots to do! My Uncle Hubert, his brother-in-law Pete and his girlfriend were out as well. They were cutting down trees and gathering up wood to fill up the cabin and dad’s truck so they could make their rounds to Warren’s and drop off wood for his stove, and then continue down the highway to see Melissa and the kids.

After a decision to cut down one more tree before mom and dad headed out, mom went to get the truck loaded up to go.  In a split second every thing changed. Mom, eager to head out, ran ahead to move a gerry can. The silence was loud; the screaming only lasted a moment. The lone tree fell, and mom didn’t move the right way. The force of the blow knocked her to her face then the tree bounced away. As the longest hour of my father’s life passed, Pete’s girlfriend became mom’s dearest friend – lying next to her in the dirt waiting for the air ambulance to arrive. She stroked her hair and talked to her. The men worked feverishly to clear a spot for the helicopter to land. As she was airlifted up, she drew her last breath.

Just 10 days prior, we were at Vancouver Airport, mom heading home. We did the self check in. As mom’s boarding pass spit out, she looked at me in amazement. “Jesus, next time I’ll be flying the plane myself!”  —-And that she did.

Fly away, mom, fly away.

Bessie never got the Nobel Peace Prize, nor did she discover the cure for diabetes or anything like that but Bessie was a star, all in her own. Just ask anyone who knew her.

Bessie Samson July 7 1949 – May 16 2009
R.I.P.

Judy is petite and fair, with a dimpled smile, straight hair, and hazel eyes.  In 1943 in Regina, Saskatchewan, she was born Judith Diane Robertson to Kenneth Robertson and Ruby Merle McInnis.

Ruby was the last born of six girls; Jennie and Alice died from the Spanish influenza in 1918, sparing Edith, Margaret (Marg), Mary (Bun), and Ruby.  Judy’s Gram, born Louise Regina Undrider, had come from Odessa, Russia to marry Edward Bruce McInnis of Prince Edward Island in 1903.

Ruby grew up in Regina, where her father Edward was a well known politician and owned a printing company.  She and Kenneth married, and Judy was born.  Ignored at an early age by her mother who increasingly turned to alcohol to placate her own unhappiness, at least she was her Gram’s favourite granddaughter.  Joanne was born two years after Judy.  She had a darker complexion and hair colouring and, according to Judy, a different personality:  “She would never clean her side of the room!”.   Judy, practical and analytical, looked after her younger sister most of her growing up years.  Judy dreamed of the day when she would be a “mommy” with her own children.

Judy spent the first few years of life in Regina while her father Ken taught in the Air Force.   Her Gram, Grampa, and Aunty Marg moved to Vancouver from Regina, and, in 1945 when Judy was 2 years old, the family of four joined them on the coast.  Her father attended the University of British Columbia’s first pharmacy program and Gram and Grampa gave them their house on 19th near  UBC.  Judy’s grandparents moved into another house on 34th Avenue in the Kerrisdale area.

My Mom’s earliest memory was sitting on the front porch of the house on 19th in Vancouver at about five years of age impressed by the snowfall which had covered the front steps.   She also recalls walking to a nearby store on Dunbar Street for her first school supplies.  What made that occasion memorable was her companion; her mother Ruby, who rarely paid her much attention, was with her that day.

It was 1949, when Judy was six that Gram became a widow.  The same year Ken opened a drug store in the neighbourhood.  Ken was a disapproving and critical man, and Judy felt he judged her harshly.  She also remembers him fighting with her mother Ruby, and later heard from her half sister that he also abused his second wife during violent fights in front of their three children.  In the summer of 1950, and Ken and Ruby divorced, and eventually Judy and her sister moved with her mother and new husband to New Westminster, BC.   Ruby’s second husband, Amos, was also abusive.  She frequently drank and paid little attention to her own health or the welfare of her daughters Judy and Joanne.

Judy started Grade 4 in New Westminster, and despite her mother’s behaviour, adjusted well to the new environment; she always liked school.  She also met a classmate named Ernie.  She provided Ernie with guidance and advice missing from her own childhood, necessitated by his rebellious and wayward activities.   While tolerating violent episodes between her mother and step-father at home, taking care of her little sister, lecturing Ernie, and attending Lester Pearson high school, my Mom’s life suddenly changed.  She had just started Grade 10 when her mother died.
Ruby had been drinking a lot and not eating much, for quite some time.  Judy took the bus to see her in during that month or so that she was in the hospital.

Aunty Marg came to stay with her and Joanne, who arrived to an empty fridge and no sawdust to feed the furnace.
Then, in October shortly after starting 10th grade, Judy was out for a coke with her friend Ernie, when Aunty Marg told her over the phone to come home.  Judy and Ernie took the bus back together and Gram came over to tell her, Aunty Jo, and Aunty Marg that Ruby had passed away in the hospital.  Ernie stayed the night to comfort Judy.
Amos, Ruby’s husband, had taken off before Ruby went to the hospital.  He left periodically when they fought, and sometimes wouldn’t come back for days.  This time he had left for good.

Ruby was buried in a cemetery behind Central Park in Burnaby, near her father’s resting place.  Judy and Joanne were flown back out to Regina where they were placed in their Aunty Bun’s home with their Uncle and four cousins.  There was only one bathroom in the house, and miles of trudging through the snow that winter between the house and school, four times each day.  Judy’s misery that year lasted until June that year when they took the train back to Vancouver only to be replaced with another disappointment.  Their father met them at the train station.

Ken hadn’t been in Judy’s life since she was about seven years old, but still worked at the pharmacy in Dunbar.  The three of them went to live at West 21st Avenue and by fall that year Ken’s second wife moved in with them.  Kelly, Judy and Joanne’s first half sister, was born in spring of the following year, and Judy had to look after the baby while her stepmother returned to work.  During her last year of high school, Judy and Joanne, couldn’t tolerate living with their stepmother any longer and went to live with Aunty Marg, who was still at the house on 34th Avenue where she cared for Gram.

Judy went into nursing at Vancouver General Hospital Nurses Residence after she graduated from high school in 1961.  Her hopes of becoming a mother were closer to coming true than she knew, but not in the way she envisioned.  Her first boyfriend, Paul, came from what she describes as a functioning family and she got along well with Paul’s mother.  They even invited her away on holidays to the Oregon coast after Paul and Judy graduated from high school.  Paul’s mother gave Judy the doll she wanted but never got for her pre-adolescent birthdays, when she got into nursing school.  When Paul’s father passed away and they broke up during Paul’s turmoil, Judy was devastated and her hopes dashed.  She met Don soon afterward.  By the time Paul recovered from the loss of his father it was too late; my mom was on her way to fulfilling her childhood ambition.

Judy and Don were married April 11th, 1963 and moved to Victoria, BC where Don worked in the Woodwards’ camera department.   Their son Donnie was born December 1963 after a long and difficult labour.    Around the same time, Judy’s father and stepmom had a second daughter.   Judy’s half brother came into the world the same year as me, her only daughter, in 1967.  Gram died in 1968, the winter just before my youngest brother Darren was born.  By that time my mom and my dad moved back from Vancouver Island and were living in North Vancouver.  Judy was raising the three of us and Don wasn’t around much.  My mom let me listen to record albums, looked after me, and gave me dolls.  She also didn’t like me sucking my thumb and encouraged me not to by applying bitter tasting nail polish!  Don and Judy divorced in 1974.  We went to live in a condominium complex in North Vancouver.  Judy became involved with an older man with a British accent who had two daughters.  She was drawn to his intelligence and wander lust, however, mom decided after a few years that the relationship wasn’t going to last.  She was adventurous, bright, and attractive, and within a short time she was dating her next husband who she met while learning to sail.  Judy and Bob decided on a house that was next to the very same house on 19th Avenue that she and her sister lived in with her parents between 1945 and 1950.

My mom’s interest and experience with care giving along with her organizational skills led her to starting a home based daycare sometime shortly after we moved to the house on 19th.  She eventually went back to school to become a pharmacy technician, a job that requires the kind of precision and fussiness my mom possessed.  She also continued to enjoy cooking, and often talked about nutrition and diet.  Her concern with weight management and fitness took the whole family to the gym for aerobics classes.  She enrolled me in ballet classes when I expressed an interest in dancing, and later supported me while I pursued classes to become a lifeguard and swimming instructor.  Mom rarely participated in leisure or recreational activities as a child, and she wanted her kids to have all the privileges she was denied.  Her oldest son was the source of tremendous worry, however, and mom considered whether her divorce with our dad was the cause of his rebellion.  Mom describes her youngest as highly sensitive and overwhelmed by changes.  Just going on an outing to the beach when Darren was very young was an ordeal because he would have a tantrum if he came into contact with the sand!   Judy definitely had her hands full in those early years as a young mother.

Judy and her second husband divorced in 1986.  She was unhappy with his behaviour and choices, and felt they should have separated years earlier, but saw the marriage as a way for her children to have a good childhood.   Beach outings and teenage rebellion aside, her children were afforded upper middle class advantages and many opportunities Judy had never experienced during her own childhood.

By this time, the children were grown up and independent.  On her own again and facing an opportunity for a fresh start, Judy got together with her third husband.  Remember the childhood sweetheart who was with her the day her own mother died?  Ernie came back to Judy, they got reacquainted, and he professed his undying love for her.  They married in 1989.

Over the years Judy settled into her life with as a parent of grown children, and then the next generation added to her joy.  Kenny, Dylan, Sam, Hunter, Brittney, Brooklynne, Daniella, and her step grandchildren Nick, Chris, Steven and Christopher, have also enjoyed her as their “Grandy”.   She took care of her young grandchildren when ever time allowed.  They went camping and traveling with Grandy and Grampy, and there are many cherished photographs and memories.  Judy was an exceptional grandparent to Dylan, who was diagnosed with primary pulmonary hypertension as a toddler; she was the only family member outside of his own parents who was able to care for him on his own.  Her pharmaceutical expertise and skill facilitated her ablity to look after Dylan’s medication requirements, and she afforded Dylan some independence from his parents during his childhood.  Judy was devastated when she faced loss again in her role as a grandparent with the unexpected grief with Hunter’s sudden death at age seven.   When Dylan passed away two years later, it was almost too much to bear.  Judy continues to celebrate her angels in heaven and the joy they bring to her life.  She in turn provides comfort to her own children and their families by spoiling them with her gourmet cooking, insistent pampering, hearty laughter, and energetic sense of adventure.

Judy has retired from working at the pharmacy department in the Penticton hospital where she has lived with Ernie for 23 years.  She seems to keep extremely busy: between visiting and traveling with family and friends, looking after their dog Simba, home designing and decorating, cleaning , cooking, reading ,and doing Pilates, she doesn’t know where the time goes.  Her plans include traveling to the Maritime provinces where she’s never been.   Knowing my mother’s determination, she’ll get there.

My mother was born Nov. 28, 1933 in Camp Lister, BC on the farm which was built by her parents, Margery and Fred Powers who had emigrated from England. She was the middle child, having a brother, thirteen years older and a sister, four years younger. They were among the original settlers in the Creston Valley and it was a very hard life. The farmhouse was a small, very basic building with a kitchen, living room and 2 bedrooms with no electricity until later years. My mother shared one of the bedrooms with her younger sister, Betty, sleeping in a double bed. The house was heated by a coal stove which also doubled as an oven. The bathroom was a wooden outhouse, and potties were used at night. Washing and bathing was done in large galvanized tubs.Her parents had no car and they got around by horse or walking. My mother had to walk 2 miles to the 2 room schoolhouse, even through large drifts of snow. She didn’t own a bike until she was twelve years old. Chores were to be done every day, such as filling the wood box and coal bucket and helping prepare supper. Saturdays were dreaded as she had to scrap the chicken droppings from the perches in the chicken coops. In the summer, she helped with the apple crop and also in the vegetable garden. The only products purchased during the early years were coffee, tea, sugar, flour and cheese. Other than the chickens which were raised, they had a cow and two horses, so they always had food and the farmers traded produce as money was scarce.

As they had no TV, the radio was their main entertainment in the evening, but usually she was too tired from all the hard work during the day to stay up late. Holidays were always a feast and the food was traditional English fare, which has followed through to my childhood and forms the basis of my holiday celebrations. She attended church every Sunday with the family and to this day is a devout Anglican, helping out in her local church.

In the winter, she learned to sew and darn socks, and these are things she still loves to do. When the snow was too deep to walk in, she would ride the horse to the post office and store for the mail and necessities. She would wake up Christmas morning, hearing the radio broadcast of the Queen’s message that her Dad would listen to. Then she would find her leggings left at the foot of the bed filled with candies, nuts, a small toy and a mandarin orange.

My mother was brought up with Christian values, and was treated firmly but with love by her parents. Good manners were extremely important and I recall when we were young having to obey such strictures as never leaving the table without permission; grace was always said at dinner and prayers before bed. This was the way I was brought up, but it seemed that showings of faith disappeared as it did in society.

In 1943, she started high school in Creston and had to catch a school bus as it was seven miles away. Sometimes she would ski to the bus stop when the snow was too deep to walk in. She loved gym and was on almost every sports team at school. However, she never really learned to swim, and she would go down to the Goat River in the summer and dog paddle around in it. My mother was a lively spirit and challenged her father occasionally.  Although she was an average student, she preserved and graduated and went on to nursing training in Vancouver at VGH. During this time her father died of congestive heart failure, when she was seventeen, placing a heavy burden on the family to run the farm. She did summer jobs, picking raspberries and cherries, saving money to buy a bike.

When she went to nurses training, she made a lot of new friends, and they formed a close-knit group. She worked hard and played hard, and certainly lived it up as much as she could! She met my father on a blind date with another nurse, and after graduating, she moved to Cranbrook to be closer to my dad who was working there as a geologist.

They were married Mar.17, 1956 in Creston at the Anglican Church. My mom and dad’s first house was an old log cabin in Merritt and she liked it there as it was a quiet and simple life. I remember her telling me that one night they heard a noise and my father shot a rat with his gun and blood went everywhere! They later moved to Vancouver and rented a house near UBC. My mother returned to nursing as a Private Duty nurse through VGH and my parents worked hard, saving to buy their first house.

My mother gave birth to me in 1958, then my brother a year later, then my sister in 1962. By then, we were living in North Vancouver, in their first purchased house. My mother cared for us mostly as my father was away a lot of the time. I remember lots of fun and laughter in the house, and always felt loved. She has been my role model as a parent, although I know I don’t always measure up. She could be strict as well, and I lived in fear of her hand as it was large and gave a wicked spanking!  Sometimes if she was really mad, she would hit us with the wooden spoon, but mostly it was just a threat. I think we must have really tested her sometimes, and she did suffer from depression for awhile.

She got us involved in a lot of activities, we were always busy! From swimming, skating, skiing, church, to piano lessons, she opened lots of doors for us as were exposed to many things. She would take us to the beach in summer, to my granny`s farm in Lister every summer and maintain all the household responsibilities by herself for most of the year. I do remember we had a maid to help my mom when I was a preschooler, Mrs Finter, and she was a great help to my mother. I remember we would have tea parties while she was doing the ironing. I`ll never forget my mother`s lessons on ironing. Everything had to be perfect, no wrinkles allowed! And we learned to make beds like a nurse, with metered corners. She would inspect it to make sure we did it right.

My mother was always concerned about presenting yourself in a polished manner, which meant hat and gloves for church and dresses always for girls. I was only allowed to wear jeans after much rebellion when I was 15. Hair and nails were immaculate as well. I am thankful for her diligence in instilling belief in your appearance as part of who you are, as that is what people see when they first meet you.

|My mother was happy in her marriage to my father initially, as they grew used to the arrangement of him being away a lot of the time. She cared for us, kept house and garden and nursed occasionally. When he was in town, they entertained and played bridge and travelled to exotic locations. Our family moved to Australia while I was a teenager and life was good there. Mom loved the climate and the people were very friendly. She continued helping us with our activities and sports. We travelled a lot while living there and I remember it as being one of the happiest times in mom’s life.

When we moved back to Vancouver in 1973, my parent’s marriage began to break down and my mother tried initially to try and make it work with my dad but eventually they split and my mother granted him a divorce a year later. I remember the day the divorce was final, how she cried, which surprised me as I thought she would be happy. She told me that it was like a part of her life was dead.  But she quickly got over her grief and began enjoying life to the fullest. She would sometimes accompany me and my friends to nightclubs, and turn out to be the life of the party. This trait of hers is still with her today! She never could fully be herself with my dad as he was a bit too stiff to let loose.

She went on to meet the love of her life, Bob, who proposed to her just before she was to leave for Riyadh, Saudi Arabia to work for a year as a nurse. She went on this amazing career trip, and it marked the beginning of her worldwide adventures. She left after a year to return to Bob, as he had cancer, and she wanted to be there for him. They married and had a short, fabulous life together as Bob would die six years later. She knew he was her soul mate, but she believes in fate and has a strong faith and did not let his death destroy her youthful spirit. I am reminded of a picture that I have from my granny that has a saying from the Queen on it: “Above all, we must keep alive that courageous spirit of adventure that is the finest quality of youth and by youth I do not just mean those who are young in years, I mean, too, all those who are young in heart no matter how old they may be.”

She took up working as a travel agent, so as to further her travels. She educated herself in accounting and finance and took control over her own matters. She has done so much on her own with help from no one and owns her own place now and can go on trips and enjoy her retirement. She has travelled to many countries and gone on many cruises with friends and family.

She has helped all her children and grandchildren through much travail, offering wisdom and guidance when needed. The number of friends she has is a testament to her, as she gives of herself to others often. She now lives in her apartment in lower Lonsdale and loves to garden in the grounds around the building and has made it look fabulous. She is very involved with the running of the building, making sure everything is attended to.

She still plays bridge and loves to entertain. A couple of years ago she met a man who turned out to be from Creston and is her contemporary. They enjoy each other’s company and go out often, enjoying dinner, dancing, movies and even cruises to other countries. I see her when I can, but I call her at least once a week and she always has lots of news to tell.

The one thing I haven’t mentioned is my mother’s health as she doesn’t let it concern her too much as she doesn’t want to be a bother to anyone. She has bad arthritis and a bad back, as well has a thyroid problem. But she doesn’t complain and the way she works sometimes you wouldn’t know she had any ailments. But she is getting more shaky on her feet and a little more hunched over but for someone who is about to turn seventy-eight, and has worked hard on a farm and as nurse for much of her life, she’s doing pretty good.

The year was 1898 in the town of Great Falls Montana U.S.A.  A baby girl was born to Hugh and Julia Jackson.  This wee baby weighing 3lbs 10 oz was baptized Elsie Harlow, a sister to Pearl. After bringing Elsie home from hospital her devoted parents kept her warm and cozy in their little kitchen beside the coal and wood stove. She began to gain a little weight and would one day reach the height of 5 feet and weigh 98 pounds. Elsie and Pearls parents were Salvation Army officers. When Elsie and Pearl were three and five years old they were ready to join their parents on the carriers of their bicycles to ride from village to village to feed the hungry and save a few souls; “Remember the little drum and the tambourine called Dad” .We had fun riding on the bikes and playing the drums and the tambourine at each stop we made”. After three years of biking from town to town the family moved to Vancouver B.C.Elsie was a robust six year old all ready to start school in this new city. The little family found a home with other Salvation Army families in the Strathcona area of the city. In the year 1904 the two girls attended Seymour School.  Elsie was a little shy and found it hard to adjust too many new experiences. However they became good students and soon had new friends among their classmates of various nationalities. They lived close to their parent’s place of work called the Salvation Army Citadel. On special occasions the Family would pack a picnic, hop on their bikes and spend a day at Stanley Park.

Towards the end of her years at Seymour school. Elsie won a very special award. The prize was a beautiful edition of “Hiawatha” which she treasured for many years. As the years progressed electric street cars became the mode of travel. In the summer holidays the family would plan a day at Kitsilano Beach. They would enjoy swimming and later have a little camp fire, roast hot dogs and marshmallows on a stick.

The return home was magical. As we walked along the pathways the tree branches appeared to be sprinkled with fairy dust as the starlight and moonbeams guided our path. The following August we than moved to Nanaimo.  I do not remember much about it except we lived near a coal mine. I would sometimes hear a siren. That would mean there was an accident in the mine. My parents were kept busy helping the families cope with their fears and sometimes grief.  We stayed in Nanaimo for two years.

A letter arrived requesting the family to think carefully about entering a new and perhaps difficult missionary work in the region of Hazelton and Glen Vowel. This would mean a much longer stay with few resources to rely on. The parents were concerned for their young teen daughters. However we thought of this as a real adventure and had little knowledge of the hardships ahead. We were given a rather generous clothing allowance which we had great fun spending. A lot of very warm clothes were on the list.  My parents had many lists for provisions and necessities of life. By September we were ready to leave. We boarded the Union Steamship S.S. Catalla. We had family time with meals on board for two whole days. After docking in Prince Rupert our journey continued in a horse and buggy along very bumpy dirt roads. Our driver was struggling to keep us all upright as he swerved from one pot hole to the next. We finally arrived in Hazelton only to be told that our real destination was the village of Glen Vowell. We were a weary family when we arrived at the mission house. Nothing daunted my parent’s enthusiasm for new beginnings.  They were soon inviting the children of the village to come to visit the school in the Mission House. They gradually learned some of the Native words and were soon communicating through music.

As time went on Elsie and her sister started helping teach the children some English words and the children taught them their games and dances. Wildlife abounded and 10 mile hikes became a way of life. Shooting the skeana river rapids in a wooden canoe, guided by trusted natives was always an exciting adventure for the two sisters. Every two years the family took a vacation outside of the Native village but was always happy to return.

During the ten year stay in Glen Vowell they developed many friends among the Native people as well as a few groups of white neighbors. A hospital was built and Elsie assisted the nurses and Doctor whenever she was needed. In 1918 after the First World War was over Elsie and Pearl returned to Vancouver. Elsie was in poor health and needed several major operations. Elsie’s Mum came down from the North to help her in her recovery. After a few years she was working as a kindergarten assistant and a dental nurse. Hospital bills had mounted up. She needed two part time positions to help pay her bills.

In 1928 Elsie married my Dad; they lived in a lovely home in Point Grey. Unfortunately the great Depression arrived in1929 and they lost their home. They moved into a nice little apartment in the West end of Vancouver, near to English Bay. In the year 1930 I was born. Mum and I would often walk to the beach. We stayed near the beach for about five years until my Dad developed Tuberculosis. He was sent to tranquil hospital in Kamloops for three years.

My Grandma and Grandpa moved from the North and bought a nice home in Kitsilano. They graciously invited Mum and I to come and live with them. I started school at the age of six, and a number of my friends often went to the movies on Saturday afternoon.  My Mum suggested to my friends to come along for a trip to the local park instead of a movie. This park was surrounded by green rolling hills. We climbed to the very top. We felt as if you could see forever. Mum suggested a roll down the hill. What fun! After much laughter we laid down and watched the clouds go by.  There were parades of bears, elephants, giraffes and monkeys swinging from trees all in the world of make believe on top of a grassy green hill on a warm autumn day.  Mums’ sense of wonder and imagination was later passed on to her four grandchildren. During the next years Mum wrote many letters to Dad and I sent drawings. He was always pleased to receive our letters and wrote us from his hospital bed. He expressed in all his letters that he missed us dearly.

Four years later Dad was released from hospital. We decided to go on a little holiday in Dads’ car.  He was a lumber salesman and needed to visit some logging camps in the Okanagan.

The Caribou highway was a very narrow, twisting road.  We experienced some very scary twists and turns along the highway but made it to our destination quite safely, thanks to Dads careful driving.  After returning to Grandma and Grandpa’s home in Kitsilano Dad went on another trip. To everyone’s shock the police arrived with sad news. Dad had experienced a fatal heart attack.

Mum was now a widow. We were always glad that we had taken the holiday together the past year.

During the next ten years Mum led a quiet life caring for both my grandparents, who were in poor health; however it did not stop their Salvation Army friends from visiting. They were all very friendly and full of joy whenever they visited.  It helped keep our spirits up.  Mums’ sister Pearl also visited occasionally.  After both grandparents died Mum continued living in the family home and had a suite built to increase her income. Her life was less lonely with friends renting the suite. She also volunteered at the well baby clinic and kept busy in her large garden. Her social life also improved.

In the year 1949 I entered Nurses training at St. Paul’s Hospital. I stayed in the Nurses residence for three years and graduated in 1952.  Mum was always very hospitable to the student nurses and often invited the out of town student’s to her house for a good home cooked meal as our hospital food was unappetizing. It was a hard three years of study and training at the hospital. Mum always lightened our spirits with her happy welcoming smile.

The following year after graduation I went to California to nurse in the pediatric ward. My Mum helped me with a lot of things when I was in nursing. She even planned my wedding for me. It was a relaxed and enjoyable time for all of us. We lived in Cranbrook, my husband was a teacher and this was his first school. We always came home for Christmas and holidays. Three years later we returned to our Kitsilano home and built a second suite in Moms home.  Soon Mum had three grandchildren and helped us out as much as needed, as I was working evening shifts at St. Paul’s hospital.
The year was1959 when Ron – my husband, completed building our new home in Dollerton. A special memory comes to mind. We were busy parents of three little boys  under five years of age. Ron was teaching school, I was taking night school courses to become a pre-school teacher so the person who was a god send was my Mother. She would drive up in her little mini Morris Minor with her arms loaded with baking. She would always brighten our day as the children ran to her with lots of hugs and kisses. She entertained them with her exciting stories and involved them in imaginative play. What would I have done without her! She was always available in times of crises. Our youngest son was ill every three weeks of his life for 21 years.  Mum was available to give cheer support and love.  One day when I was visiting Rick- our son in hospital he said to me, “I always listen for Grandmas’ heels on the hospital floor.  They go “clickity click clickity click and then I know she is almost here. “That makes me real happy.’”
Nine years later our new baby girl arrived whom all the boys loved and cherished. In 1968 Mum offered to care for little Sandy –our daughter, who was two years old while we took the boys on a camping trip to Expo in Montreal. It was a great experience for the whole family.  Mum loved and cherished little Sandy.
One person’s life can make a difference. That was my Mum.

It was the year 1950 in a town located in the West Center of Mexico. It was a small city  in  a semi dessert area that was a rich place because in its valleys  there were  tin and copper mines. Here,  French and Spanish immigrant found their new home after exiled from Europe in eighteenth century. I was born as a second child of a wealthy family, and I carried with me their traditions and heritage.

Both my paternal and maternal family were part of high class society in western Mexico where religion and morality marked the rhythm of life of people. My father spent his early childhood in a boarding school in Mexico City and even though his family owned the most productive ranch in this part of the country they lacked love.  My mother was born into a family of landowners  who  raised cattle.  When they got married,  they followed the same family system that they received.

Under a strict surveillance of both, my childhood was restricted and limited of  love. Our family follows a strict schedule and routine and I was not allowed to do anything out of the box.

The richness of the buildings in the town showed how powerful it had been  during Independence and Civil wars. Our house was located in the main street in front of the plaza  and was one of the oldest buildings in town. There was a kiosk in the middle of the  plaza  and I loved to play there.  I ran in circles around the kiosk under the watchful eye of  the maid,  but I enjoyed those moments at the kiosk even more than when I had to go with my  family to see art presentations. Then I had to remain seated without moving an eyelash, eyes straight ahead, surviving being bullied by my brother.

The smell of homemade butter and fresh bread wake me up and opened my appettite . The maid helped me to bath and dress before breakfast and I run to the big kitchen to wait until the whole family was there. My mother was always eating with a child in arms and my father  would sit and observe all of us making sure that we be were behaving correctly.

One morning I saw my mother and maids packing our clothes and households. Shortly after, a large truck parked in front of our house and my father, followed by some men began to pack our furniture on the truck. Nobody told me we were moving to our ranch, out of town.

I had been there few times before and I only could remember pigs and chickens and lots of fruit trees.  I never knew why my parent decided to move but I didn’t like our new home. I missed our old house, the kiosk and the church. Our parish was an eighteenth century building decorated with European saints and colorful stained glasses. I loved going to the church and see sun light traveling trough the windows and drawing figures in the white floors.

In the church I felt more peace that anywhere else, despite the threats of a God that was always watching all my actions and always ready to punish me.  Here the music of the choir mixed with organ sounds raised my spirit into another dimensions and made to run my tears.  In my prayers I asked I could feel my mother’s love, the same way Jesus felt Maria’s love.

When I was six years old my life in the ranch was quiet, with no more responsibility to obey my parents. One night my mother announced next morning will be my first day of school. My first day in Miss Lupe’s private school was tragic. I had the idea that school would be a place full of books and friends to play with. Instead of this, the classroom was separated by a screen: boys one side, girls another.  Miss Lupe was a strict and demanding teacher that didn’t miss any opportunity to punish someone.

Smiles were scarce during recess. Was forbidden to talk with boys or even look at them. The only games allowed were walking around the patio and whispering some secret with a girlfriend. One day I was working so hard, embroidering distractly lilies in a white cloth when I felt the gaze of Miss Lupe on me. She scream at me. Without realizing, I had embroided the cloth in my skirt. She hit me ten times with a wooden ruler, five hits in each hand. When I felt the first hit I scream but then, I had to bit my lips to keep silence.  My father came to pick us up and I showed him the marks on my hands but he didn’t say anything. We drove home in silence, no one said any word. When I get home I told my mother what had happened. She look at me and said: “You probably deserve it.” At that moment inside my heart I felt I was completely alone, and unworthy of being loved.

I spent my teen years in a boarding school in Guanajuato City. Catholic nuns ruled the place and I continued with my education in a rigid and religious ambiance.

In the summer of 1965, I visited my father’s family in Mexico City. There my cousins gave me two invaluable gifts: rock music and a visit to the National Museum of Antrophology. While I was walking  amazed by prehistoric sculptures I dreamed about becoming  an antrophologist. But unfortunately my dreams shattered and I had to accept my fate. As a woman I didn’t have any chance to go to university and I had to accept my destiny following  my father’s instructions and getting trained to be a secretary.

But the time I turned 19 my mother had already given birth to 15 children and we were living back in our house at the town. Even though I didn’t have all the freedom I wanted I was enjoying my life. I had a few friends and a boyfriend whom I loved very much. I had to sneak around to see him but I didn’t care. I love him. We dreamed about getting married and having children.  And, once again, my father decided to move, now to Guadalajara without give me any notice.

Once there and thanks to the recommendation of my old boss I got a high position as a manager assistant in a big bank. My boyfriend and I exchanged love letters and we continued our relationship from a distance. I missed his laugh more than ever. I started to receive good money from my job and I dreamed about leaving my family. I was urged to move out of my parent’s house but I needed to be married if I wanted to leave them free of sin.

In one of this letters, my boyfriend asked me to married him. With a scented letter I answered him yes. We were planning his visit to my house, to talk with my parents.  A few weeks later I ended our relationship.  I found out that he had been cheating on me.  And thirty years later, I found that it was just a rumor.

As if he had been waiting for the right moment, a handsome green-eyed cashier that worked at my bank ask me out. He had a good sense of humor and big perseverance. After three years of dating, with poor communication and big dreams, we married.  In our honeymoon I wanted to dance in a romantic restaurant and he took me to the Mexican jungle. I asked myself: “Why did you marry him?”. We had different needs. I loved to dance and  I dreamed about having fun dancing with my hubby, but for him, fun was baseball games.

When it was the time to talk about kids I said “Six”, and he said “One”.  And when our first child arrived, he expected a boy, but was a girl.

I focused on being a perfect wife so I quit my job. Suddenly my spouse became jealous of our baby girl and I never could look at him the same. I felt betrayed.

I got pregnant with my other children without his approval. After each birth our relationship tore apart. Our constant fights scared our children. We were an immature couple trying to have a normal family life, but not because we love each other, but only because we were trying to save our lives.

With four children to feed and dress and only one salary, our marriage struggled with poverty and I knitted sweaters to bring more money to the table. Therefore, after years of lack of love I started to feel frustration and angry.

I knitted at night, when my kids were gone to bed and my house was spotlessly clean. I followed loyally the values given by my father and I made religion and neatness our family values. My children were born with their own personalities but I treated them all equally, without recognition of their own needs of love.

Our house was ruled by order and cleanness. We follow a rigid schedule and in our daily life, God played an important role. For me, religion was my lifeline and I tried to save my marriage with faith and prayers. Every single day we had a violent incident in our family. And as expected, the children paid the price of our mistakes.

My oldest daughter broke communication with me at the age of eight.  She left home as soon as she could. For me, she was a mirror of her father and secretly, I didn’t like her.  She had strong character so I assumed that she didn’t need me at all so I trained her to be my assistant, either preparing dinner or taking  care of her sibling.  She was a great support to me, even though I didn’t recognize her.

My second child, also a girl, was born with a broken hip,  and she needed special treatment almost for two years. Her life was marked with suffering. Although she recovered bravely and developed a strong personality, she grew up frightened and scared. Following her old sister’s steps, she left home before marriage.

In my thirties, I got pregnant again and I prayed so much asking for a boy, but I gave birth to my third girl. She was fragile and sickly and at night her desperate cry ran my husband out of our room. This is when our marriage was broken forever. However, men have needs and as a devoted wife I was there to satisfy my partner.  As a result, I became pregnant again, this time a boy.

Just like volcanoes exploded, our marriage exploded. With an overprotective attitude, I spoiled my son, and after years of a manipulative relationship, my boy started to use drugs. For me these were five years of hell. I didn’t realize that the problem was also mine, not only my child’s.

At this moment, we as a family were struggling against addiction, and only those who had been through this could understand how much pain and suffering addiction brings to a family.

Finally my prays were answered when we discovered an amazing group of people that gave us support and shared their experiences  about addiction with us. Right there, we learned about self -love.

Suddenly I recovered lost time and I started to dream again. I returned to school and finished college. Even though I was living my fifth decade I still dreaming.  I felt free because  my kids were following their own lives in a positive direction so I started caring about myself. I had the chance to heal the relationship with my parents and then I could love more my child and enjoy my grandchildren.

Finally, I am ready to be myself and help others through the humanitarian path I choose to live.

Writing our mother’s story was a wonderful opportunity for us to reflect upon her life.  And what a life she had.  Our mother was born in the small village of Mehta,in the Punjab in India.  The year would be a guess because no one kept birth or death records in her village, probably sometime around 1910.Growing up in her village she didn’t go to school, but was expected to work around their family home and learn to cook. When she was about thirteen and working in the field, she told us that a woman in the village was giving birth and our mum was called to help.  As soon as the head showed our mum threw up.  Some help!  At around the same time she started her period and not knowing what was happening she threw a hysterical fit and our grand dad had to calm her down.  It’s sad how uninformed young woman were then.

Well she was getting on in years, after all she was now 15 and a marriage was arranged with our dad.  After the wedding he came to Canada to start a new life and left our mother there for 14 years.  We can only assume our dad had no interest in bringing her to Canada since bachelorhood seemed to suit him.

In 1939, my paternal grandfather went back to India to bring my mother and two other brides to Canada.   They had a harrowing journey from India to Canada.   The war was raging so it was blackout every night. It was a very rough journey and my mother and her friends were very unwell and would only eat rice.

My grandfather died on route and had a sea burial.

She was alone and illiterate; travelling to a new country to spend her life with a man she met only once!!! Upon arriving in Hong Kong on her way to Vancouver, there was a serious communication breakdown which left my mother and her friends in Hong Kong taking refuge in a Sikh Temple for several months.

She finally arrived in Canada and moved into her house in North Vancouver around 1939.  Everything was strange in her new country.  She had a wood stove in her new house, and almost burned the house down when she lit the fire under the stove instead of in it.

When she witnessed her first snow fall she ran outside because she thought it was cotton falling from the sky.  She slipped on the ice once and a bus driver stopped to help her.  Because she knew little English she told him to “shut up”, when she really meant, “thank you.”  For many years after that when she boarded his bus he jokingly would say “shut up Mrs. Poran”.  The first time she tried to buy eggs at the corner store, she couldn’t spot them and the grocer tried to help.  Finally she squatted down and made sounds like a chicken.

One day she was picking flowers in the yard and the neighbour yelled at her.  She didn’t know what he said, but she knew he was angry.  She told our dad and the very next day he went to the district and bought the property.  He told her if the neighbor said anything to tell him to, “get off our property”.

Thankfully, everything worked out well, and they were wonderful neighbors that we grew up calling Nana and Uncle Bob.

Our mum wanted to go to school to learn to speak and write English, but our dad said it wasn’t necessary because he was there to look after her, which really didn’t last too long as our dad passed away when I was 15.  As is the Indian custom women would come to our house and wail, and our mum and her friends would curse our dad for leaving her with two teenage daughters.  It was all part of the culture so we didn’t take offence.

Because of my mother’s lack of education there were occasions that she totally misunderstood what was being said.   For instance when she was watching the news on TV one morning my mother thought the queen had died.  She told my husband who promptly called me at work and told me the queen died in Mexico.  I was in utter disbelief and yelled it out to my boss who was on the phone to another lawyer and passed the news on to him.  Also being a monarchist I usually had a clue where the queen was and couldn’t quite believe she was in Mexico.   However my co-worker called a news station to ask about the passing of the queen.  Well she got an earful. “It wasn’t the queen, it was Steve McQueen and it isn’t funny to make calls like that, blah, blah, blah.”  We issued an immediate retraction.

In the 70’s my mum always keep hearing about marijuana on T.V.  I am not sure how she figured out that marijuana was the mayor of the hippies, but it sure was fun telling her what it really was.

After our dad died, our mother who had never worked outside the house went to the lumber mill where our dad worked and asked the owner to let her take surplus wood which she loaded into our dad’s truck.  Then she would pay drivers to deliver the firewood to our dad’s customers.

After several years the mill closed and our mum went to work as a kitchen helper. Her first kitchen adventure was in a pizza shop.  One evening the owner left our mum in charge so he could go to the bar next door.  She quickly called home and recruited us.  We waited on tables while she made the pizzas. The customers lined up and told her what they wanted on the pizzas.  There certainly wasn’t going to be any writing and reading involved.

Rupe, the owner used to give our mum a pizza to take home every day.  How much pizza can one family eat?  So ever the enterprising woman she was she started to sell the pizzas to the local grocery store.  On day Rupe had to go to the grocery store and you can only imagine his reaction when he saw his pizzas in the freezer.  And so ended her career as a pizza maker.

She moved on but continued working in the restaurant industry well into her seventies.

Another place of employment was for a private club and our mum would serve coffee and goodies from the little takeout place.  One day one of the members wanted to introduce her to his wife.  To which our mum replied, “This is your wife?  Who is the other lady you bring here?” The wife ran off screaming and our mum was demoted to the kitchen.

Getting her driver’s license was such a frightening event that we have erased it from our memories.  Because of her illiteracy she drove by association.  Turn left at the red mailbox; go until you see a gas station on her right, etc.  On one occasion she was driving down a one way street the wrong way. When she was stopped by the police and he said “you are going down a one way street”.  Our mum said, “I know, I am only going one way”.

Our mum was an extremely kind hearted and generous person.  We didn’t have a lot but I recall her letting a man who had very little, and was obviously hungry work her garden in return for food, and meals that she cooked for him.
At one time two of our girlfriends, a gay male friend, our mum, and my sister and I were all in the little two bedroom house together.  The girls slept together, the gay friend was in the attic and our mum slept on a cot in the kitchen.  She used to say she had five daughters.

In her busy life our mum also found time to be an activist.  One day my sister called me and yelled, “Turn on the TV.  Jeez, mum’s on it marching around”.  Indeed there she was with a black arm band and limping around some woman’s house and yelling taunts in Punjabi, calling her a “kuti” and a “lungi” which do not need to be translated. There had been a killing in the woman’s family and our mum and her friends were enraged and wanted her to show her that life was not like that in Canada.

Our mum also became a property owner and landlord and I believe she was a true renaissance woman.

Both of us married outside of our cultural group and our mum was amazingly supportive. We will always admire her and be forever grateful to her for giving up her place in the Indian community to support her daughters.

One of her desires was to see her grandchildren grown and happily settled. The greatest joy our mother had was from her grandchildren whom she loved, and adored unconditionally. We regret that she died before she could have enjoyed their weddings and her great grandchildren.

Always loved, always missed, our mum, Raj-Kaur PoranWriting our mother’s story was a wonderful opportunity for us to reflect upon her life.  And what a life she had.