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| Liz & Marie |
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| With her great niece, Karen |
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| recreating an old photo with nieces Liz and Annie |
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| Picking rhubarb and then made a pie. |
Marie Albert Bruno (nee Adam) August
1939 - December 21, 2021
On a hot humid Ottawa summer day, a number of years back, I went for a drive
around rural Ottawa, first to Rockland and then to Cumberland. My aunt Marie was my passenger and navigator. She’d say turn down this dusty dirt road, then
this one, not too far now. We would
stop and she’d get out, thoughtfully looking at the landscape, her eyes
searching for memories. Then she’d nod
and say, this looks the same and get back into the car. She’d say, I remember walking down about a
mile or so this on this road everyday to go to work.
It astounded me how well she remembered landscape where everything to me
looked similar, farm after farm. She looked at the gravel road like it held a
treasure. But my first thought was with all the missing and murdered Indigenous
women it would have been easy for someone to grab her from that dusty road,
with no houses in the vicinity, she had walked a lonely road twice daily to get
to work to support her three young children.
Finally, we drove down another dusty dirt road and stopped at a huge old
farmhouse. I said, are you sure this is
the right house? Yes, yes, she said. This is it!
We went up to the front door and knocked. I was not only apprehensive
but a bit afraid. A lady, maybe in her
early fifties, opened the door. Auntie knew her parents who owned the farm. It
is hard to say how old she was. Her face seemed haggard and full of stress and
that might have aged her prematurely. She exclaimed, oh my, I have not seen you for
years!! She reached out with a big smile
and hugged my aunt and called her by her name. Come right on in she invited us cheerfully.
We
visited almost a couple hours as they reminisce about the old days. We sat in
the kitchen from which I could see antique furniture in the living room and and
knick knacks on shelves. The kitchen was
filled with the aroma of comfort food ready to be served all laid out on the counter,
like she was expecting company. But my
auntie said, this is how it is on the farm, plenty of food cooked and taken out
into the fields to the people working.
It was a pleasure to drive her down memory lane, literally and figuratively.
as she told me stories of her time in
Ontario as a young mother with her three little children and an abusive alcoholic
husband. She worked as a chamber lady at
a motel we drove by. It was still standing but was but looking pretty worn down.
When she spoke of her boss, she said he was a very nice man and treated her
well. He never made her feel badly when she showed up with a black eye caused by
her husband or if she had to miss shifts because she couldn't walk into work. We ended our trip down memory lane with tea
and soup at a restaurant she worked at, again, describing the owner as a
sympathetic boss. People she worked for clearly
respected and liked her. I wish I had had
an iPhone back then. It would have been amazing to take pictures of her at all
these stops.
I am grateful for my auntie. She did not have email or go on Facebook.
She remained one of the few people where our communication is either in person or
by calling her landline. Knowing this, I had to keep our
communications frequent over the years.
Marie Celestine Adam was born in Northern Saskatchewan. She was the seventh child of Christine Laddi
and Chrysotome Adam. She had two sisters, Therese Deranger, my mom who passed
in 2015 at the age of 96 and Victorian Powder. She had six brothers; all
deceased now except for her youngest brother Horace.
Aunt Marie demonstrated her love for us through her cooking; she was an
excellent cook. She said you have to be creative when you don't have much to
cook and have to feed three hungry young children. What impressed me about our
drive to the various farms she lived at is how isolated she must have felt. Her husband was away for work much of the time.
She was a great guest and visited us on at least half a dozen occasions in Ottawa. She made herself at home, baked cinnamon buns, bread and made the
most delicious chicken soup with dumplings.
On her first visit she asked do you have flour. I said yes, but not much and then she said
ask your neighbour to borrow some. What? I can't do that I said. she said on the farm
neighbors help each other it must be the same here, so I called my neighbour
Lucille Abbott who happily gave me an unopened 10-pound bag of flour. When the
cinnamon rolls were done, we walked over and took her some. My aunt Marie had a wealth of knowledge on traditional culture and our
Dene language. She was a strong advocate of the environment and would often
speak of the destruction caused by the oil sands to our traditional territory,
especially the water. She was a respected elder and attended Treaty 8 elders’
meetings as a representative in our community. She lived life on her own terms and seldom back down from a fight. the last few years of her life he began giving away her things. in the end she had nothing but the clothes on her back.
She was an extraordinary human being, one of the last traditional elders
with sacred knowledge of our traditions. She spoke fluent Denesuline. I
loved her dearly.
She was not perfect and had a strong stubborn streak, as most of in our
family do, but in my eyes, she was extraordinary. I only wish that people could
have seen her through my eyes, they would have been witness to the richness of
her life, her tenderness, and her willingness to help the cause of missing and
murdered Indigenous women. In the early 1990s,
she searched tirelessly for a granddaughter who had been put up for adoption. All
she had was a picture of the baby that she carried in her purse until a few
years ago when she was robbed leaving the bank. When she told me the story, she
said I held on to my purse so tight not because I was afraid to lose the money,
but it was the only picture I had at my granddaughter she said tearfully. In
that moment I felt her pain. That search ended happily, though, as my aunt’s
daughter was reunited with her adopted child and has a relationship with her.
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| with a daughter,Kuni |
Her search for her granddaughter was tenacious. She would approach lawyers at meetings at
every opportunity for help, even though she couldn’t retain them. One of those lawyers became my husband. Well before we met, he recalls attending Child
welfare meetings in Edmonton and my aunt would approach him for off the cuff
advice on finding a adopted child. He
had to tell her politely that it was not something he could help with. He still remembers the passion and anguish
she carried with her.
I am blessed that she was my aunt and was part of my life journey. I am
grateful that despite my move to Ottawa she got to know my husband and my son,
and that I was able to help her relive memories of her past, while she helped
me to understand more of our language and culture.
My aunt went to the spirit world on the winter solstice 2021, I think it
was fitting that she would leave us on the longest night of the year. It
represents our connection with the natural world.
