When I woke up this morning, it took me a few minutes to remember where I was and what year it was.
You see I had been dreaming, I was sitting at a café in Dorion, Québec with Grandma. Something we did often when I would make the trip to Verdun to pick her up and turn around and come right home again so she could visit the family here in Ottawa.
When I got my drivers license at the young age of 16, the very first trip I ever took was to Montréal with my girlfriend so we could shop St.Catherines Street. We loaded up my 1979 Malibu Station wagon, filled the tank with gas and were on our way. We stayed at Grandma’s and to us it was a huge trip, two hours in the car (which was really an hour and a half if I remember correctly) was like forever when you have only been driving for six or seven months. Mom and Dad thought nothing of it because we were staying with Grandma, we had a wonderful time and I cherish the memory of our time with her.
In the many years that followed that inaugural solo (meaning without parents) trip I traveled the road from Ottawa to Montréal a lot. My parents moved to Manitoba and I tried hard to be a good Granddaughter and visit every two weeks or so. But, oddly enough I didn’t travel far with Grandma in the car, we would take the metro uptown to avoid parking. Something I find funny now because I never seem to have trouble finding a spot for my car and haven’t taken a metro since way back when with Grandma.
Then, sucker that I am, I moved to Manitoba. Poor Grandma had to fly across the country to see us then. Thankfully, that lasted just shy of two years. Once we returned, instead of Grandma taking the train or bus, I would jump in my car and drive over and pick her up. After driving back and forth to Manitoba (22hrs) a short drive to Montréal seemed like nothing.
Often, I would leave in the morning around 9am and we would be on our way back close to lunchtime. So we would stop at a small café just off the highway in Dorion. We would have a soup and fresh baked roll and a little pastry for dessert. I would load up on coffee and we would be back on the road in no time.
This morning while I slept, I was dreaming that Grandma and I were at the café, we were laughing, she was telling me stories with her fake Scottish accent. And I only say fake because she never had one even though she was born in Scotland. And she was telling me about her friends from Church. It was like it was yesterday. I could feel her there with me, like I could call her up and chat on the phone. Then, I woke up.
I had to remember that Grandma has been gone almost ten years now. She left us just shy of her 93rd birthday, so really she would be almost 103 if she were still here! I had to remember that my children would never get to meet my Grandma who was both strict and hilarious at the same time. They would never know the fun that my older Sister and I had when we would spend March Break in Montréal, playing on Grandma’s balcony, feeding the birds, taking trips to the pool to swim or going uptown for tea and the St.Patrick’s Day parade. Sure we do all those fun things with our kids, but Grandma made it special somehow. She lived in this really cool place where they spoke french and she had a corner store with penny candy. And as I got older, instead of a dollar for the corner store, Grandma would tuck a twenty in my pocket for gas.
Today, thanks to my dream, I miss Grandma terribly. If I could have ‘just one more day’ it would be a day with Grandma to tell her once again, how much I love her. To go to a café together just one more time. To hear her sing ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane’ even though she didn’t like to fly just one more time. To hear that fun Scottish accent, just one last time.
Miss you Grandma, you are missed.
This photo is circa 1989, no comments on the hair or the pants. In the photo is Grandma, my Mom, my Step-Grandfather and me. We were moving Grandma to a new apartment after she had been in the same place for fifty years. Rolland Avenue, Verdun, Québec.
