The End of my Journey
For over three decades after inheriting Mom’s cedar chest I allowed their ageing letters within to lie un-disturbed in their disorganized but protected state. My realization of the rapid passing of time and my advancing age combined with a nagging sense of responsibility pushed me to turn the key in the cedar chest lock and begin my journey. The little girl who was forbidden to read their letters took on the adult responsibility of exploring them.
My journey through their letters allowed me to experience their world in a unique and personal way. I learned details of their courtship, poverty, unemployment, joyous parental love, enduring passion and deep religious faith. The letters spin a tale of ordinary people making a life together during the Great Depression and into World War II in the Gatineau Valley and northern Ontario. The journey through the letters was an emotional one. The sense of privilege I felt as a witness to their lives along with their love for each other dissolved any fear I harboured of invading their lives and learning unwanted secrets. Who could not be charmed by Mom’s Book of Beaus where she described my Dad with “hair like spun gold”, how she “fell hard for him” and hoped to “never recover?” Such love was a pleasure for me to witness. However, I found it difficult to read about the hard times of unemployment; to be there for the desperation and hopelessness that infused each letter. I was grateful to read about the joy they shared about my sister whose antics provided welcome lightness to buffer their difficult times. It was a pleasure to be reminded of my Dad’s humour, tenacity and writing skill and Mom’s unending ability to encourage and endure. On a deeper level, I am left with the intensity of the love they shared and deep admiration for their determination to create a successful life in difficult times away from the comfort and protection of their families. With the last two letters I felt a confidence that they had created a satisfying life together – a life that I would soon be born into.
Over the course of my journey their letters have lost their forbidden aura. After all, Mom did not destroy the letters. She told me that I should write the family history. It could be said she was helping me along by leaving the letters to me. Although I have not written a family history, I have attempted to bring to light a portion of my parent’s history and my heritage. I sincerely hope I have honoured their writing and created a tribute to their lives.
Memories attached to mementos that I have always kept close have become alive once again. The repaired bread knife, the hanger with a message, Daddy’s prayer book and Mom’s recipes in her handwriting bring my parents consciously back into my daily life.
My journey was one worth taking. Their letters have become precious to me. I have handled them with tenderness and re-filed them lovingly in that special red box, their picture on the lid. My parent’s words will once again find safe harbour within Mom’s cedar chest. Perhaps others will wish to explore these story filled treasures and learn from them. Or maybe I’ll re-visit the letters with new perspectives as time moves on. But for now my journey is done.
I glance at “Love Letters from the Cedar Chest”, the book I never believed I could have written as it sits on the shelf next to the desk where I let those letters speak to me. Sadness comes from the realization that with the end of my journey I am saying good-bye to my parents once again, That feeling is replaced with the warmth of satisfaction – it was a job worth doing and I did the best I could.
