I am almost 93 years old, and today I want to say thank you.
Thank you to Quebecers.
Thank you to this people who, more than half a century ago, opened their arms to a young French family looking for a new start. At the time, we had no internet, no Google. Only a map, dreams of great spaces and, in my heart, images of Kamouraska.
It was 60 years ago. My husband and I took the sea with our two young children, our few suitcases, and the naive courage of those who have nothing to lose, but everything to hope.
The trip lasted seven days. We had to dock in Montreal, but a strike at the port (already at the time!) Make us in Quebec. Some things, decidedly, do not change. The tone was set: this country was going to surprise us, sometimes unseat us, but above all teach us to let go and adapt.
A heartbreak
Some believe that immigration is a simple, almost calculated choice, an economic or opportunistic decision. But those who lived it know that it is above all a heartbreak. You have to leave your family behind, your bearings, and sometimes even your identity. It is to move forward in the fog, with a tight heart, hoping that we made the right choice. I have often wondered, in the first weeks, if we had not made a mistake.
We had no accommodation on our arrival. The first furnished apartment found had mattresses covered with spots, a strange smell, and we felt this feeling of improvisation very strongly which often marks the beginnings.
And then, like a gesture fallen from the sky, our neighbors came to knock on our door and brought us a roasted chicken, quite simply.
This gesture, made without waiting, without calculation, I have never forgotten it. It was the first real sign that we were here with us, even if no one told us still aloud.
Over the years, we have found our place. It was not always easy, but we had this fierce desire to participate in this company which had opened its arms to us. I taught all-small with passion, while my husband devoted herself to helping children more vulnerable to the adoption and child protection society (SAPE). We were keen to contribute, to be part of this Quebec which had stretched our hand. Our children grew up here, rooted in this land which has become ours.
And today, when I see one of my daughters representing Canada abroad, the other walk in the footsteps of his father with the same passion for the well-being of children and my granddaughter flourish, I tell myself that this journey, so demanding if it was worth every detour.
This path, we have traveled it thanks to our determination, yes, but also thanks to the benevolence of so many Quebecers crossed on the way.
And it is precisely this benevolence that I would like to see last. In a time when we often talk about the other with distrust, when political debates on immigration become more and more tense, I would like to recall what I have experienced: an open, generous, human Quebec. What makes us deeply Quebecois is not only our language or our culture is our ability to welcome, to trust, to believe that everyone can find their place here and contribute in their own way.
So, regardless of changing policies or divisive speeches, never forget this quiet force which makes Quebec a place of reception unique in the world: this reflex of opening its door, to reach out, to share a meal with a stranger.
Merci.
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