On April 9, 2020, amid the pandemic and lockdown, my grandpa passed away. Rest assured, he did not have the coronavirus. My grandpa had been a shadow of his former self for several months, and despite the sadness of knowing that the pillar of our family is gone forever, we are relieved to know that he has gone to a better place—so much better.
My grandfather was a man of the land, a man of the woods. In the magnificent Bas-Saint-Laurent region, he grew wheat and hay. He cared for his dairy cows and their little calves with love and respect. It’s no wonder his milk was the best in the entire region—there was so much love in it!
Grandpa was a man of the woods. He cut his own firewood practically until the very end. The forest rewarded him well because he took such good care of it. Even today, the family land is teeming with beautiful forests of birch and fir trees stretching across the fields as far as the eye can see. In the evenings, the sunsets make the place wonderful, magical. From the top of the hill, you can see the sun setting over the river. At the same time, if you turn your back on this magnificent spectacle, you can see the stars lighting up one by one.
Grandpa Paul, as his great-grandchildren call him, was a man of tradition, a unifier, a man who put family first. We’re scattered all over the province and in Ontario. Despite the distance and our all-too-rare get-togethers, we’re extremely close. We’ve always been this way, even before social media and new technologies. My grandparents were the ones who established this. There’s a house and there’s a home. Every member of our family has their own house, but we all share the same home. And it’s a magnificent place! A place to dream, with both feet firmly rooted in family traditions. We disconnect from stress, work, and the “hurry, hurry, hurry… right now!” mentality, and we hold fast to the deep-rooted values of family, love, and joy. We live in harmony with the tides and the sun…
But then, the cruel grip of old age—the kind that dims the eyes and leaves gentle, wisdom-filled words dying on the tip of the tongue—took hold of my grandpa. The man of the woods, the man of the earth, the man of the wide, wide open spaces is now trapped within the four (tiny) walls of a long-term care facility.
We, the family scattered far and wide yet bound so tightly together, have each experienced this sad event on our own. And that is the hardest part: not being able to jump in the car, drive to Saint-Anaclet-de-Lessard, and wait together as a family, reminiscing about fond memories, walking through the forest still covered in snow to find peace there. We cannot gather in our home. We’re each trapped in our own homes.
At least the long-term care facility allowed my grandmother and her oldest son to be there, since there were no cases of COVID-19 in the facility or in the residence where my grandmother lives. They were able to be together. The pillars, the foundations of this family. The two with whom it all began. So, thanks to this small miracle of permission, “home” shifted. It drew closer to all our homes, and all of a sudden, we were all there, together.
Because love travels constantly, without borders or barriers. It is never confined. Not even by distant, locked-down regions or roadblocks. Not even by a nasty virus that forces us to stay home.
Even without being able to be physically together, we were all there. From Ontario to Rimouski. Love took the 401 and the 20 all the way to the 132.
The family man has passed away. Surrounded by his wife and his son, supported and loved (from afar) by his four other children, his daughters-in-law and son-in-law, his 10 grandchildren, and his 9 great-grandchildren. He walked through the door where, I’m sure, a pesky little boy with glasses was waiting for him, a smile on his face. The 11th. (Hey Grandpa!)
Have a safe journey, Grandpa. I’m sure you’ve found your way back to your beautiful, vast forest with plenty of fine wood to chop, your fields stretching as far as the eye can see, and your sunsets over the St. Lawrence River—the one where you can’t see the opposite shore. The biggest, the most beautiful.
I hope there’s some good fresh bread with butter, rocking chairs, a little gin, and Canadian Club…
And also Corn Flakes. Lots and lots of Corn Flakes with milk straight from the “tink.” You know, the best kind. The kind made with love.
I love you; we love you.
P.S. The photo shows a sunset that can be admired on our family’s land… Although magnificent, it captures only a fraction of the true beauty of this spectacle…