Tag Archives: writing

Bienvenue.

Standard
Bienvenue.

The time has finally come for us to visit Quebec and meet Fernand, his daughter Mel, and just ultimately get to that culmination of all these years of work and piecing together the mystery of my dad’s biological family. This past fall, I pulled the trigger and booked the airline tickets for us to fly out east. I planned it differently, though-we would fly into Toronto, rent a car, drive to Quebec City and stay for a bit just the three of us (Dan, myself and Andy) and then go to meet Fernand and Mel. We’d then finish the trip in Toronto for a few nights.

To say I was anxious the weeks leading up to the trip would be the understatement of the year. I was wired. I was worked up. My blood pressure was honestly through the roof (and I know this for a fact because I stupidly had my blood pressure monitor testing done a week before the trip and I know the results are wild). I mean, lets summarize this all (especially if this is the first time you’ve happened upon my page)

My dad was born in 1952 in Quebec City and was given up at an orphanage, La Creche St Vincent De Paul. Two years later, he was adopted by an American couple. He was fortunate to have a life full of some pretty incredible opportunities and experiences. He met my mom, married, they had me. He never wanted to find out about his birth family (or so he always told us) and it became apparent later that into the 2000s it would have been tricky to do so anyway due to adoption laws in Quebec. My dad died unexpectantly in 2004, at age 51. I was 19. I kept always wondering about his story. Where he came from. What my background was from him. I dabbled in attempting online searching. I wasn’t able to get anything from the province of Quebec right away, since I wasn’t the adoptee. Husband and I went to Quebec in 2014 where I was able to see a museum with insight on my dad’s orphanage experience, along with the site of the orphanage. I did two different online DNA testing kits, and also had my mother do one so it could split the paternal/maternal matches. I matched eventually with a gentleman named Fernand, on 23 and Me. We started messaging during the pandemic-knowing we were related as “1st cousin 1x removed” and from my father’s side; but how? Could not pin point where my dad was connected. In 2024, Quebec changed the laws the allow other generations of the adopted individual to gain access to their birth mother and possibly, birth father’s, name. I sent in my application on the date they opened in June 2024. I was put in a queue. I was eventually contacted early Spring of 2025. I had a few Zoom call interviews with workers in Montreal and eventually was given the names of my dad’s birth parents-Clothilde Lemay and Maurice Cusson. Maurice would turn out to be Fernand’s uncle.

This whole thing is ultimately wild. I don’t know how much this post tonight will make sense, as I am having myself finish writing it on what is actually the 22nd anniversary of my dad’s premature passing. But I want to get this out there and preserved and to continue reflecting on it all.

So we flew to Toronto to begin our spring break adventure. Driving away from the craziness of Toronto (14 lanes of traffic across!) and making it to Gananoque, Ontario, for the night was step one. I chose Gananoque for a reason, actually, as our first stop. I had been there in 1994 with my parents and best friend, Ali, as we visited my Grandpa Lammers and his second wife, Jean. Jean had a cabin in the 1000 Islands area from when she was married to her first husband. Grandpa Lammers and Grandma Jean got together after both their spouses passed. Their story is a soap opera in itself, and not for this post…but I had been here before and wanted to have a short stop over again. Nostalgia.

The next day, we headed to Quebec City. Took a perfect roadside gas station picture as we crossed the border and just like that…. everything was in French. On the way, we found a Cabane a sucre for lunch. This was an amazing experience! Everything was doused in maple syrup, and we learned about the process of tapping the maple trees to get the maple water used for making authentic maple syrup.

We stayed at the Hilton right across from the legislature building for 2 nights. We spoiled ourselves while there by staying on the Executive Level, where we had lounge access and a great view of Quebec City. We strolled Old Quebec, found attractions for Andy to enjoy, took in the heated outdoor pool, and had a fabulous dinner at Le Hobbit. During the visit to Quebec City, we also found our way back to the site of my dad’s orphanage. This is now a collection of many medical offices and other commercial spaces. It was Good Friday on the day we went, so the public buildings were closed. But we walked around the grounds and found the memorial for the babies born at the hospital and the Sisters of Good Shepard who took care of them back when it was La Creche St Vincent de Paul.

On the day we headed to meet Fernand, I didn’t know what to expect. Dan drove. I sat. And just thought that “I can’t believe this is happening.” I was also thinking crazy things…worried we would drive up to his supposed address in St. Liboire, ring the doorbell, and no one would answer. Ghosted.

We approached the small town of St. Liboire. After stopping at a roadside cheese store first, naturally. This was it. We rang the doorbell. I held my breath. And then, Fernand and Mel (along with their doggos) opened the door and welcomed us with hugs. I teared up hugging Mel-these people are real people. They are my family. HOLY SHIT.

We stayed with Fernand and Mel for two nights. He and Mel were fantastic hosts. Fernand is in his mid 80s. Mel is close to our age and lives in Montreal. She sees her dad close to every other weekend (it’s about 1-1.5 hours away). And what amazing people they are. He was such an incredible host in his house for these two nights and made our family feel so welcomed. He prepared so much in terms of food and experience. He was our tour guide (as Mel was the chauffer!) to show us Cusson family history that surrounded him. We saw old houses, cemeteries, land. He told us stories. He showed up family trees. We shared pictures.

One extremely special thing we witnessed was when Fernand took Andy on a little hike through the forest that backs onto his house. I cannot explain how it felt to see this happen. How absolutely wild it all was.

I know maybe the readers of this post would expect me to talk more about the stay. But it is hard to put into words. What I Can say is this—Fernand & Mel are family. And I felt a connection to them immediately. Mel and I joked that not only was I worried they would ghost us, but she also stated she worried slightly that we maybe were scammers! Meeting everyone in person put those crazy uncertainties to rest. And I can say with certainty that this will not be the only time I see them.

I was born and raised in the Milwaukee, Wisconsin, area…yet I am 1/4 Quebecois. And I now have the family connection to that part of my life story. It does feel weird to now know all of this, without my dad ever knowing it. But I am beyond proud and happy with the result of all the hard work I have done to confirm these facts. There is still more to learn, and anything Fernand is willing to share with us I am beyond appreciative of. I now know my link to the Cusson family. It is just even more crazy to see myself here-a Canadian who finally confirmed all her roots and history deeply entrenched in Quebec.

Bienvenue…Bienvenue…Je me souviens…

In memory of Andrew Anthony Lammers/Joseph Luc Parent/ son of Maurice Cusson & Clothilde Lemay

June 7th, 1952-April 25th, 2004

Act II

Standard

This post will be about my second phone call with Fanny, where I found out the name of the birth mother (along with some other tidbits). When Fanny set up for us to have this call in mid May, it came to my surprise to hear that she would be leaving her job position.

My first thought: fuck. I won’t get everything I need.

Yes, that was selfish. But I have been waiting for so long to find out this information, I was a bit scared that my case would get shuffled back into a long queue, not paid attention to the same way she did. We had our first call together before I went to the London Marathon and she gave me some rich background information. She wanted to have this call occur before she was leaving her job, so she could give me the birth mother information that she had confirmed.

Clothilde Lemay.

That is my grandmother’s name. Clothilde. Lemay.

Just like in the first call, she couldn’t release exact birth dates or death dates, locations, etc. And now that this call happened back in May, I don’t remember exactly what we spoke about. One interesting thing was brought up, thought-she hinted that maybe I could find something regarding Clothilde’s father, as there was a documentary put out by NFB (National film board) that included him. He was a musician. She couldn’t directly share his name, but she must had found it in her search and made sure I looked it up to put it all together. So I did. It’s a bit odd and interesting all at once. I have watched it and have all sorts of thoughts. (Here is the link too: https://www.nfb.ca/series/le-son-des-francais-damerique-english-version/season1/les-gens-du-plaisir-en/ )

Clothilde was an only child. She never had any other children other than my dad. It appears she may have gotten married again, but never had another child with her husband. In my Ancestry.com searches, there is no more paths from her name. Cannot find a grave. Cannot find a burial. What I have is below:

Died young. Close to my dad’s age. What I can piece together on ancestry is below. And if we put this all into perspective, she died before I was even born. So in a way, it is comforting knowing that I didn’t ‘just miss out’ on finding her. I wasn’t even here. My dad hadn’t even met my mom yet. Finding her wasn’t on my dad’s radar.

I have found no pictures of Clothilde online. No obituary. No photos shared on ancestry. She is a mystery. I do, as you saw above, have video of my great-grandfather though. Which is absolutely insane. And what I did four weeks ago is more insane: I decided to google up one of the directors of that documentary. His name is Andre’ Gladu. And according to the internet, he is still alive.

I found him on Facebook and sent him a message. He has not replied yet, or read it. So a few days ago I sent him a friend request. I have no clue if he will read it or acknowledge it. If someone wants to help a girl out and see if he’ll read this, work your magic:

So. I learned my grandmother’s name. Clothilde Lemay. My dad’s biological mom. This was always what I wanted to find out. I was met with so many emotions over those first days of finding out. I cried. I felt sad for her and her story. To have a son, to have to give him up….to get married but never have a second chance at her own family…dying young….it’s crazy. I was always on the search for my dad’s birth mom and I was worried that now, with now knowing the name and even now months later not knowing much about her at all…that this was all for nothing.

But trust me. It only gets better from here.

And that will be part of Act III.

My Family Saves a lot of Shit!

Standard

Growing up, our family basement was “finished” in terms of the fact it had more than just a sub floor. It wasn’t necessarily a livable space, or somewhere where you would want your middle child to have their bedroom, but it had the flooring down and was framed and insulated. My friends and I could play down there, and it was fine. We had a lot of storage space in my parents house—it’s amazing my mom and dad did not become hoarders! I know as an only child, we have more photos of me growing up, more photos of our family at holiday events…I know I was spoiled growing up with gifts and other items….but with all that, comes years of random stuff being stowed in your parents’ basement. But then, over the last ten or more years, some of that “garbage” has been filtered out and thrown away.

Now, I know for a fact nothing precious has been tossed. I’ve been a guardian of that basement my whole life. I spent many of days when I was middle school aged or older looking through my moms’ family photos. I loved the idea of the past, and loved looking back at it. Photos like the ones below exemplified my grandparents and their families, and we have held on to those!
20130803-214409.jpg

20130803-214358.jpg

20130803-214346.jpg

But other than family photos, there was a bunch of my toys. The things piling in my parents’ basement were random Barbies, board games and hand-me-downs from my cousins. We also had a lot of my school work. The wooden walls in our old-school basement were a stapling ground for anything I did in art class. We also had an old-fashioned desk we got at a rummage sale, that my best friend Ali and I would use to play school. In the desk we stored old notebooks, folders and classroom supplies. From kindergarten and, on this desk was in my basement—and I added old notebooks into in. But later on, many got thrown away. However, me being the master of the basement, I made sure my early ones stayed.

When my family went to Walt Disney World for the first time in 1991, me; being the studious young kid, made sure to ask Mrs. Shrake if there was anything I needed to do. We use to do a single sentence journal entry every day in class, which included the date, and was usually about a topic on the board. She told me to write in my journal each day when in Disney World. Since I am currently on my 15th trip to Walt Disney World, I thought it would be fun to look at these pieces of history (ha!) Here are excerpts from my school journal in 1991, when I was on my first ever trip to Walt Disney World:

20130803-213922.jpg

20130803-214009.jpg

20130803-213944.jpg

20130803-214136.jpg
I have, and always will, remember those first words: I am up in the airplane. I am up in the sky. And it is even crazier to think about these words I wrote back in 1991, while in Disney World with my family, and that I am here now in 2013, writing words about these words while on vacation with one of my best friends.