One of the very first entries of the year documented my brother’s six week check-up with his doctor following his Cancer surgery. Six years later, I am happy to report he is still Cancer free. I then documented that I was waiting to hear from the University of Toronto about my application to the Master’s degree program in its Faculty of Information Studies. On the 12th of March, I documented that I had received my acceptance letter from the University. Also dotting these initial entries are mention of visits with Grammie in Souris West and the adventure in wallpapering that Hilda and I undertook when we papered Grammie’s bedroom that January.
June marked a trip to Ottawa for my friend Beth’s wedding. Six years later, her and her husband are separated and she is living in another country. While in Ottawa, I stayed with my cousins – Patsy and Gene Lewis – and also had great visits with the rest of my Lewis cousins. Six years later, Patsy is now deceased.
July of 2005 marked one of the two pivotal events of that year for me. On the 28th of July, I took my Grandmother to the hospital and sometime the following week wrote:
After work on July 28th (Thursday), I took her to the hospital. She had trouble breathing, but managed to walk into the hospital on her own accord. At that time, no one was sure what was wrong with her, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut it was not good.
The following Thursday she died, surrounded by Mom, me, Margie, Walter, Allen & Betty, and her nieces Theresa Murphy and Cathy Gallant, in the same hospital room that Auntie had died in two years earlier. There are then pages and pages documenting all the facets of her wake and funeral and the kindness of our friends, neighbours and community in their expressions of sympathy. One thing I documented that I had forgotten was Father Gallant noting in his homily of Grammie’s “fondness for poetry and the soil east of Souris,” which was so touching.
I say that this was a pivotal event in my life, because I was so incredibly close to my Grandmother. I now realize how fortunate I was to get to know her as an adult. I saw her at least once a week and if I was working in another province, we’d frequently talk on the telephone. She told me on more than one occasion that she felt I was like another daughter to her rather than a granddaughter. I was dreading saying good-bye to her when I was to leave for Toronto that September, but as it turned out my good-bye to her happened sooner than I had expected. Within three weeks of her death, I was in Toronto set to begin a new chapter in my life, but I of course took her, and continue to take her in my heart wherever I go. Here is a photo of us I keep on my fridge.
September of 2005 marked my move to Toronto – the second pivotal event in my life that year. My diary entries document the challenges, uncertainties and eventual triumphs that came with returning to school to do a graduate degree in a city unknown to me - in my mid-thirties. My diary also documents that I realized I needed the challenge, and I took pride in fact that I excelled in my studies. Six years later these studies now seem so long ago and I will soon be entering my fifth year of employment in the second largest Archives in the country.
My diary entries that Fall also document a reunion with my friend and former Professor, Dr. John Thomas. He was a wonderful mentor to me during my undergraduate degree at Acadia. Another Acadia History pal and I had three knee slapping beer swilling outings with Dr. Thomas that Fall. That Christmas, John was diagnosed with cancer of the tongue. I only saw him one more time. Within a year John was dead at the age of 56. His death was devastating for me, but I was grateful for these outings, for all the office time, advice and guidance he gave to me at Acadia and for all he taught me in his death. Six years later, I have become friends with John’s parents, and completely dissolved the friendship with the Acadia History pal with whom I enjoyed the visits with Thomas that Fall.
That Fall, my journal also documents attending book readings by Margaret Atwood and Frank McCourt. I met them after the readings and had books signed by both authors. Frank McCourt was of course charming in typical Irish fashion. When he heard that my name was “Juanita” he proceeded to sing to me a few lines from the old ballad “Juanita.” I was completely charmed – and of course loved the Teacher Man novel that I purchased and had him sign that night. Six years later, Frank McCourt is also dead. I recall Margaret Atwood looking at me – one of those looks that go straight through you – and the small smile she gave me. I was grateful for that smile because she is, well, terrifying.
On November 22nd, 2005, I made the following entry in my diary:
“Today I discovered that FIS are going to be able to send two students to South Africa to work with the Nelson Mandela Foundation. My heart skipped a beat when I heard this. I want to go.”
Within six months I was in South Africa. I was one of two students chosen from eighteen applicants to go to South Africa to work in the NMF’s Centre of Memory. Verne Harris became a friend. I met Nelson Mandela. In addition to South Africa, I visited Lesotho, Swaziland, Botswana, and Namibia. It was a hell of a summer.
The year 2005, brought with it a lot of ups and downs and twists and turns – more so than usual. I am just glad I had the sense to document it all. And reading this journal has encouraged me to be more diligent in my journal writing.
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