Before Delta Flight 15 touched down in Atlanta, those aboard had pledged $15,000 U.S. to the people of Lewisporte for a scholarship fund. An anonymous donor later matched that, and the fund grew to roughly $35,000. It is now overseen by the Columbus Foundation in Ohio, and the first scholarship was awarded June 21, 2002.
The opportunity to be of real service during the tragedy of September 11 has given everyone involved an incalculable lift and a new sense of self worth and appreciation. E-mail messages, gifts, photos and invitations continued to pour in to the folks in this area from their former guests. And all because Newfoundlanders, with small-town good neighbour values, were kind to some strangers who just happened to drop in from the sky.
Paul Banks
editor, The Beacon Newspaper
Gander, Newfoundland
Reprinted by permission of Québec City Convention Centre. ©2001.
6
ON FAMILY
I like family life. I like it when I get home at night and the kids shout, “Dad!” and trip over my feet and hug me and smell sweaty because they’ve been playing all day. That’s love, brother.
Gary Lautens
The Legacy of Mary
One sword can rarely overcome a score, though one heart may be braver than a hundred.
Samuel James Watson
It was November 1984. I had picked up a copy of Equinox magazine from a table in my daughter’s home and gasped—there before me, in an article entitled “Ghost Towns of Alberta,” was a picture of a man named Lawrence Stewart. Lying in front of him was a pile of books that he called his “Memories of Etzikom.” It had been forty-seven years since I had been taken from my home in Etzikom, Alberta, at the age of five.
I sat there in a state of shock as a little voice in my head said, This is it, Maree.
In 1938 I’d been sent to live in the Kiwanis Home for Children after my mother suffered a nervous breakdown. My father was ill equipped to raise seven children alone, during the Depression, and still look after his farm.
It wasn’t long before I was adopted by a fine family who was well-off enough to give me everything I could have asked for. My other brothers and sisters were either adopted or put into foster homes. I never saw or heard from any of them again. Over the years, when anyone would ask me if I wanted to find my family, I would say, “I will when I can never be hurt again.”
I grew up and worked out a successful career for myself in early childhood education; married my husband, Leo, who loved me very much and encouraged me in everything I did; and became the mother of five wonderful children who thought a great deal of me.
If ever there was a time to find my birth family, it was now—almost fifty years later!
As I sat there in shock, staring at Lawrence Stewart’s article, Leo and I began talking about my memories of my own family. I remembered the names of my brothers and sisters. There was John, Coulter, Mable, Nancy, me (Mary), May and a little brother who had been born just before we were taken away from our father.
“It wouldn’t hurt to write to this Lawrence Stewart and ask what he knows,” suggested Leo. I took the magazine home, and the next day, that’s what I did.
Three weeks later, I received a letter from Mr. Stewart, telling me he’d been in the area for about sixteen years and knew many of the families’ histories. He thought he’d be able to help me. He remembered only one family that had been broken up back then, and their name was Robinson. The father’s name was Dave, and he recalled there was a son named Coulter.
I wrote back to him enclosing a copy of the birth certificate that had been issued to me when I was adopted. My husband and I were leaving the country for six weeks, but I said I’d contact him upon our return. Everyone was excited about the fact that I was finally going to find my birth family.
Upon my return, a letter from Mr. Stewart was waiting for me.
“You are indeed Mary Robinson,” he wrote, “and I have located the rest of your brothers and sisters!” He told me that someone would contact me in the near future, as the family had been trying to find me for many years.
The first to call was Myrtle Keene, the daughter of the family who had raised my little brother, Seymour. I asked her to please let my family members know my whereabouts because I wanted to meet them.
A couple of nights later the phone rang and a voice that sounded like an echo of my own said, “Are you sitting down? Because if you’re not, you’d better do it now. I am your sister May!” A tingle came over my whole body—it was so wonderful to hear her voice after so many years. Her name was now Gail Turner. She told me how she had been reunited with the family some years before and had even lived close to our father in Vancouver before he died. I began to learn more about my family, and we arranged to visit as soon as possible. I was walking on air, and could only think of all the questions I wanted to ask.
A few minutes later the phone rang again, and it was my sister Nancy. I was in tears by now—her voice sounded just as I remembered. Nancy was two years older than me, and she was able to tell me details that I was too young to remember. She had lived in the Kiwanis home in Edmonton until she was about ten years old, and then she had gone to live with a family by the name of Jones. We made plans to meet as well.
As if by magic, the phone rang once more. After forty-seven years, I heard the voice of my little brother Seymour. He told me he had been trying to find me for many years. Seymour had grown up in Etzikom with the Keenes, who had named him Derwood. He told me how, over the years, he had seen our father from a distance, but had been too afraid to approach him. He had also known our mother for a short time, while she lived in The Michener Centre in Red Deer. Seymour has a wonderful sense of humour, and I felt as if I had known him all my life. It turned out that he is the one that my own son, Steven, looks like—and even acts like. We arranged to meet in July so I could hear his whole story.
About a week later, Myrtle phoned from Regina. This was the sister I’d known as Mable. When she learned I’d been found she was so happy she cried for a week! Because she was the oldest, she had somehow thought she should have kept us all together. For all these years she had searched through faces on the street, trying to find a resemblance, but no one looked like Mary. Now that she had talked to me, she wanted to see me right away.
About a month later she came out by bus, and I met her in Cache Creek. I had told her I had glasses and grey hair, but wouldn’t you know—there were three other women at the bus station who answered that description! The bus pulled in and there were many faces looking out the bus window when I heard a voice cry out, “That’s her, that’s my sister!”
Myrtle stepped off the bus, gathered me in her arms and began to sob. She had told everyone on the bus the story of our family and about her long search for her sister Mary. Now, as the happy crowd watched our joyous reunion, we stood there holding each other and crying for a very long time.
After forty-seven years, our long search was over—our family was united once more.
Maree Benoit
McLeese Lake, British Columbia
Love Is a Two-Way Street
Love can’t be hidden. It’s like light.
Celine Dion
Her ashen face stood out against the startling blackness of her hair. She looked much younger than her fifteen years. She was a child of the British Columbia foster care system. We weren’t supposed to take a child for another couple of months, but an emergency call came through that morning. A home was needed for a young girl immediately.
The whole family pitched in to get her room ready. The kids were great. They changed linens, cleared out closets and helped with the cleaning. My heart felt like a drum pounding in my chest. I was excited, but scared at the same time. This was such a new experience for me. The children kept asking questions: “What is she like?” and “How long will she stay?”
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” was all I could answer.
In our home in Surrey, British Columbia, we had four
children of our own. Margaret and Joanne were seventeen and fifteen, and Rob and Jeff were twelve and nine. Our friends thought we were mad to take on another child, especially a teenager. “You’ll be sorry,” they told us. “A foster child can give you a lot of grief.”
That afternoon, Trudy arrived with the social worker Mrs. Kline. She stepped into the front hall and clung to the walls. I will never forget the look in her eyes. The first thing that came to my mind was that she looked like a hunted animal. The children moved towards her, and Jeff grabbed her hand and said proudly: “Come and see your room. I helped make your bed.” Trudy pulled back, but didn’t let go of his hand.
At this point, I stepped towards her and said, “Welcome to our home, Trudy.” She looked at me with such blank, vacant eyes. The kids were all talking at once: “Do you want a pop?” “Do you want a cookie?” But with her head bowed, she simply said, “No thank you.”
“Kids, can you go downstairs to the family room, so your dad and I can talk to Mrs. Kline?” There was a chorus of voices saying, “Bye, Trudy. See you later.”
We sat at the kitchen table, and Trudy was very quiet. Her eyes darted back and forth like a creature looking for a way out. This had been her fifth foster home since she was eleven. No wonder she was afraid. I wanted to put my arms around her and tell her she would be safe with us.
For the first two weeks, Trudy was very quiet. She would come into the kitchen while I was working, and we would discuss school and what she would like to do in the future. Mrs. Kline had given us all the information about her history, but I never mentioned the terrible things that had happened to her.
I wondered if in trying to help Trudy I had taken on too much. Her life had been one crisis after another. Would she be able to put the pain behind her and get on with her life? Would I fail? Self-doubt would then flood in and overwhelm me.
It was a Friday night, and Trudy had been with us for only one week. Margaret and Joanne were getting ready to go out and meet their friends, and Trudy was watching television. “Are you going out with the girls?” I asked.
“You mean I’m allowed to go with them?” she said in amazement. Her question took me by surprise, and I didn’t answer right away.
“I was never allowed to go out at night at the other house,” she continued.
“Well,” I finally responded, “it’s different here. Friday and Saturday you can go out, but the curfew is eleven o’clock.” When she heard my words, she jumped up and hugged me! I was so surprised, I almost fell backwards.
As the days went by, Trudy became a delight to have around. Very quickly, it seemed like she had always been with us. The girls would sit in each other’s rooms and giggle like typical teenagers. It was a sound that warmed my soul.
One day, when Trudy had been with us for about a month, I took Joanne shopping for a new winter coat, and Trudy came too. She was not used to shopping in stores other than discount ones. The process of shopping involved filling out receipts and sending them to the ministry, and she found it all very embarrassing.
Joanne was trying on a green suede jacket with a fur collar. It was expensive, but she pleaded, promising to give up her allowance, do extra chores—anything to have the jacket.
Trudy had picked out a jacket that she liked and was promenading in front of the mirror. As I watched her, I realized it was not the same girl that had entered our home only four weeks ago. She stood taller and held her head higher. The tightness in her face had softened. She was able to look me in the eye when she spoke to me.
She walked up to Joanne, modelling the jacket, and sighed, “Isn’t it beautiful?” Joanne agreed as they both preened in the mirror. Replacing the jacket on the rack, she rejoined Joanne.
“The jacket looks so nice on you,” Trudy said. “Can I borrow it sometime? Daniel will love you in it!” she teased. I hadn’t seen her face so animated before.
While they were busy, I quietly asked the salesperson to wrap up the jacket that Trudy had tried on. “Please don’t let her see you do it—it’s a surprise,” I explained. For the next few minutes, I kept Trudy busy while the salesperson rang up the jacket and wrapped it.
We bought the coat that Joanne had loved, and Trudy was still babbling on and complimenting her on her choice. The salesperson had placed the parcel containing Trudy’s coat where the girls couldn’t see it, and I managed to sneak it out to the car without being caught.
When we arrived home, Joanne proudly modelled her new coat for Margaret. Trudy was still talking about it, and how Joanne was going to lend it to her. I chose that moment to say, “Trudy, would you please go out to the car and bring in the parcel from the trunk?”
She happily complied, and when she returned, laid it on the table. “Would you please open the parcel for me, while I put on the kettle?” I could hear the sound of ripping paper, and then I turned and saw her reaching out to touch the jacket. Her hand recoiled as if she had touched something hostile. I walked over to her and put my arms around her. Trudy looked directly into my eyes, unable to speak. Joanne looked at me, anxiety and concern for this newly acquired sister showing in her face.
I took Trudy’s face in my hands, and asked, “Isn’t this the jacket you were trying on?” At that, Trudy started sobbing.
“In all my life, no one has ever bought me a beautiful jacket like this. Why did you do this?” She held the jacket and stared at it with disbelief.
On the brink of tears myself now, my voice shook as I managed to say, “Because you deserve it.”
I left the kitchen and went to my room so she would not see me crying. My heart ached for this child who didn’t feel she was worthy of a coat. As I was sitting there deep in thought, a knock came at the door. “Come in,” I called.
There in the doorway stood my four children. The look on their faces told me they badly needed to say something. Margaret stepped forward and spoke for them: “Mom, thank you for bringing Trudy into our home. We hope we can keep her forever.” The rest of the heads bobbed up and down in agreement.
My eyes welled up with tears. As I gathered my children to me, they began to say, “We love you, Mom.” I looked at the faces of my treasures and whispered, “I love you too. Guess who’s the luckiest mother in the world.”
Carol Sharpe
Surrey, British Columbia
New Kids on the Block
After Brad and Nancy were married a few years they moved to their dream home in the country. An essential part of their shared vision of a life together was having a family. They could just see their young children running and playing on the lawn. But time went by and there were no babies. No reason could be found, and the doctors encouraged them to keep trying. More time passed, however, and still there were no babies.
For the next few years, Brad and Nancy explored many options, trying to have a child together. But after several years and a great deal of money, they agreed they were ready to consider adoption.
They decided upon international adoption, and finally Costa Rica specifically. They filled out forms, asked lots of questions and attended many seminars.
Then, on Christmas Eve, a neighbour came to the door. He handed Nancy a flyer from an adoption agency that had gone to his house in error. On the cover was a picture of three small children—two sisters and their baby brother. They were born in Costa Rica and available for adoption as a family. Nancy caught her breath, thinking, These could be our kids! Not wanting to influence Brad, she left it on the table, saying nothing. A short while later, he picked it up. Time—and Brad’s heart—stopped for a few moments as he gazed at the picture of the three children. In an instant he recognized them as the children that he and Nancy were going to adopt and raise as their own. There was no question in his mind. It was a miracle.
Although it was Christmas Eve, on a whim Brad called the adoption agency in a small town two hours away. A recorded message announced a general information meeting on December 27. They figured it would be like all the other meetings—reams of forms t
o fill out and process before they would even be considered. But they changed their plans and fit in a trip to attend the meeting.
The couple that owned the agency had just returned from Costa Rica and had personally photographed the children Brad and Nancy wanted to adopt.
“Yes, those children are still available. Do you want them?” inquired the agent.
Nancy and Brad were totally stunned! It was all happening so fast! Brad said, “Yes! Let’s go for it!”
Nancy was a little frightened. Three children all at once! Could she do it? But the story of how the mother’s circumstances had changed, and how she had had to give up her babies broke Nancy’s heart. She and Brad decided that between them they had enough love to share with these abandoned children. Before they left that day, agreements were signed, a lawyer was contacted and the financial commitment was made. Nancy joked that it took longer to decide on their new car! But they were sure and made immediate plans to go to Costa Rica to meet their kids!
Excitement and anxiety began to build. Would they all like each other? How would six-year-old Maria react to her new mother? How would three-year-old Katrine react to the tall man with the yellow beard and blue eyes? Would tiny one-year-old Emilio find comfort in a new set of arms? How would they all communicate? Brad and Nancy enrolled in Spanish lessons right away.
A host of concerns from well-meaning friends and family followed their impulsive decision. But, undeterred and with love filling their hearts, they moved steadily forward toward their goal.
In February, Brad and Nancy travelled to Costa Rica. They had just settled into their hotel room when there was a knock on the door, and the three children entered to meet their new mama and papa. Baby Emilio was carried by the foster mother, and along for the ride was the Costa Rican lawyer, a doctor, a translator and the director of the Canadian adoption agency who just happened to be in Costa Rica! Here was an entire team committed to successfully bringing this family together. Another miracle!
Chicken Soup for the Canadian Soul Page 17
