Two beautiful smiles on their wedding day in August 1990.
My stepmother Gabrielle was my father's second wife, and I knew her as a member of our parish and school community as well as a friend of both my parents when we were little; we hosted her family for dinner and were invited to their home many times, and my earliest memory of her was of her beautiful voice as she sang "Minuit Chrétien" to begin the traditional Midnight Mass at our French-Canadian church every year. After her first husband passed away and my parents divorced, she and my father found each other and were married in 1990. They had 11 happy years of travel and adventures before he passed away, and she continued to be in our lives as a member of the family until her passing last month at the age of 93. Today, we held her memorial service in honour of a long life well lived.
The note card from Gabrielle's service today.
My sister and I were honoured to read a letter she herself wrote back in 2009, much of it explaining the many things in her life which inspired her, including her quilting, her passion for travel, history and reading, and her love for her family and friends. One of the things that left a huge impression on me were stories of her learning to read as a three-year old in rural Quebec in 1926 so that she could read the morning paper to her father. Despite little formal education beyond primary school, which would have been the norm in those days, she was a lifelong learner who passed her passion for the arts and history to her children and never lost the gleam of curiosity and the willingness to better herself by pushing beyond the limits of her modest circumstances. I am so glad we got to know her again in her later years when she married my father, and that they had many happy years together gallivanting the globe. At the end of the afternoon, having been reunited with her children after more than a decade without regular contact with them, it was lovely to see that they are all still well and happy, and that there were fond recollections and anecdotes on both sides about our father and their mother. We were given a box of items she had labelled to be returned to us after she passed, and the photographs she had bundled brought back a flood of memories of times long gone.
I felt my father's presence very strongly today, and not only because the service was in the same chapel as his was 16 years ago. Looking at the box of photographs just now, I am reminded of just how much time has gone by and how little all those years have altered my feelings and longing for him. One of Gabrielle's daughters told us how grateful she was that he helped her physically escape an abusive relationship by driving her to safety, and how she always remembered his kindness and willingness to help. In some of the eulogies, we recognised the adventurous spirit that my father and Gabrielle embodied as they travelled to Egypt, the Galapagos, and the Manitoba tundra to see the polar bears, among many trips they took together. I also found this travel snapshot of my father, taken at the spot at the foot of Lake Superior where Terry Fox was forced to abandon his Marathon of Hope to find a cure for cancer. My father, as you can see, is gazing up at Terry's statue in a contemplative manner: he had, like Terry, beaten cancer successfully when this photo was snapped, and sadly, like Terry, cancer would come back and claim his life too. It remains one of my favourites, because both men were optimistic in the face of their own pain and suffering, and I can only imagine what my father was thinking when this was captured on film.
One of my favourite photos of my dad: he and Terry Fox, kindred spirits.
All in all, it was a beautiful service, and a gentle reminder that though time continues to pass, the love you feel for those who are gone never diminishes but finds a permanent place in your heart.
1 comment:
A beautiful post showing the love your bore for this special lady and your beloved father. A precious tribute, Anne Marie!
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