The loss of my father, Alex (Ben) Bolduc in January 1953 left my mother, Claire Bolduc, and her four young children ranging in age from two to thirteen years in a debilitated state of confusion, fear, and hurt.
Although my Dad had been noticeably lean (maigre) and sickly (malade) during all the early years of my life, his sudden departure, from St.-Joseph Hospital on the morning of January 6, 1953, came as a crushing surprise to all of us.
Apparently, he had fallen victim to a case of double pneumonia after successfully undergoing an operation to treat his bleeding stomach ulcer, which he had been postponing for years.
It seems that all those doses of Maalox, which he had used as a temporary fix in dealing with his recurring stomach disorders, were simply not adequate in preventing the gushing upchucking of that ulcerated stomach patch onto the kitchen floor, which he had experienced only a week before.
There is an important life lesson to be learned in this poignant situation, i.e. “ Never be so financially stressed out that you cannot afford to seek medical treatment in a hospital setting when your body is crying for professional help. “
However, we, French Canadians, had been taught decades before, back in Quebec, that “one goes to the hospital only to die”. Cultural attitudes are not easily changed.
As a result, I believe that all four of us, children, in that human drama reluctantly grew in wisdom far beyond our tender years. Mother Nature can be swift and cruel in Her life lessons. As one might hear said, today: “Wake up and smell the coffee”.
I was the oldest in that brood of offspring while my brother, Bob, at nine years of age, was experiencing the many challenges of life for a boy in Centralville. We, each, had our individual, daily paper routes to give us meaning and purpose while Michelle (6) and Denise (2), our two lovely sisters, cheered us on with their youthful, feminine frolicsome ways.
In addition, our mother was always there by our side with her courageous words (French and English) and actions stemming from her rural connections to dirt-poor, Catholic, Québécois relatives, who were still living on farms up north that were too poor to farm successfully.
This story has several follow-up chapters, which are treated in some detail in another portion of this book.
