One of two last remaining aunts on my father’s side of the family died in January and her celebration of life was planned for this past May Victoria Day long weekend. My brother and I quickly accepted the invitation to make the road trip to Cap Chat, Quebec to reunite with many of our French cousins.

Annual Pilgrimage

We remember well our annual, occasionally twice-yearly, trips to Quebec, to the homeland of our father, on the Gaspe Peninsula, St. Lawrence Seaway side, when we were young. Mom and dad would wake us up at 3:00 in the morning and bundle us into the back seat of the car, in the days before seatbelts, for the long drive. Back then it was in the range of 13 to 14 hours from Lunenburg to Cap Chat, on roads with no passing lanes, certainly no twinned highways and even a few dirt roads. Even today, once you get past Moncton, New Brunswick, no matter which route you take, the highways are not twinned, although from Halifax it is more like an 8-hour drive now.

When we did sleep, we would often wake in time for breakfast, disoriented in time and geography. There were a few places we predictably stopped – one a diner outside of Moncton and one a restaurant in Carleton, Quebec, neither of which exist today. Because we were on vacation, we could have clubhouse sandwiches, french fries and orange soda. A real treat.

We always looked forward to seeing our cousins – those who lived in Cap Chat and those from Rimouski or Montreal who happened to visit our grandparents at the same time we were there. Being among the youngest of the cousins though, there were many of the 20 or so I did not know from those travels. They were already off doing other things.

Traveling to Quebec every summer was not an option, it was an expectation. Dad was on a mission to get there and an even speedier mission to get home once the visit was over –  it could be a real nail biter! Initially 2 weeks at a time, then 10 days, then a week.

DNA Imprinting

Year over year, we did this pilgrimage and it seems imprinted into our DNA as much as the biological lineage for my brother (because spoiler alert for some, I was adopted and did not know it growing up …. or even until my mid-forties – but that is the stuff of other stories, including my memoir, Embracing the Stranger in Me: A Journey to Openheartedness). In our adult years, my brother and I traveled together to Quebec just a few times – all for funerals.

Upon our arrival, we were warmly welcomed and embraced. Some cousins I had not seen for decades – as many as 4 decades. Others I had met again in more recent years. Yet, no matter how many years have gone by, the connections are genuine and feel recent.

Walking along the sidewalk in Cap Chat – or on the beach – it was like it was yesterday when we stayed at our grandparents’ house, the same house dad and all his siblings grew up in. Each step resonated. On the beach, I could feel the connection with all who came before and are no longer physically with us – grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, some cousins.

Cousin Relationships as Adults

Cousin relationships in adult years, and with the prevalence of social media, is far different than when we were shy children. We are grateful that pretty much everybody speaks English since we don’t speak French. Social media gives us a peek into people’s lives – travel, relationships, connections. It reminds us of who people are.

As someone not biologically connected to this family, it is interesting to observe the physical resemblances of siblings and cousins. Some have more unique characteristics, coming from their other sides of the family. Some cousins look like they could be siblings. There are, like in most families, very notable Jourdain characteristics. As a child and even young adult, I had no idea I didn’t look like the family. Now, although it is more obvious to me, my brain still “recognizes” me as a member of this family.

A curious side note: my brother and I both did not know I was adopted. When we found out, it seemed that it must have been a really big secret, because how could we not have known? Yet, everyone in the family, and pretty much everyone we grew up with in our small town, knew I was adopted. A secret so openly known, no one talked about it.

Generational Shifts

Generations in families shift over time. We move from childhood to adulthood, with a generation or two still ahead of us. Then, those generations are gone, and we are now the elders in the family. Most of us have families of our own for whom we are the oldest generation now, grandparents in our own right. It is good to have reminders of who our generation is in our extended family.

The last funeral I had attended in Quebec was with my father, also for an aunt. At that time, he was the last remaining of six siblings. My cousins who were there each acknowledged him with greetings, conversations and even a gift or two. There was a hospitality room where the family gathered to connect, have a few drinks with amazing food, and tell stories. My dad thought it was loud, that people drank a lot, that “it wasn’t the same anymore”. I told him the only thing that was different was the generations. I believe he was 85. The view from there was a bit lonely I’m sure, rooms filled with ghosts of memories from a different era, now filled with the next generation of adult children and their children.

Had my brother and I not gone to Quebec, I doubt I would have missed the experience. However, having gone, and now knowing what I would have missed, I am so much more likely to quickly accept the next invitation, which will inevitably come our way.

It is good to be reminded of who we are in the context of our heritage and shared memories or experiences. Our memories and our stories keeps the generations before us alive.