Pierrette Mireault (1929-2018)

My mother passed away on Saturday, April 21st.  My sister, her family and I were with her during the last days.  It was a difficult time but there was so many beautiful moments of hugs and kisses.

By her own account, my mother was a nervous little girl forcing her to skip an entire year of grade school and live with her grandmother in a village away from the bustle of Montréal.  Later, she suffered from anxiety which she battled most of her adult life.  It couldn’t have been easy.  Here is an early photo of her and her sister, Cécile.  My mother is on the left with her very fashionable marcel curls!

 

Pierrette and Cécile

Perhaps the earliest memory I have of my mother was a summer’s day walk to Woolworth’s.  My mother wanted to buy herself a 45 rpm record.  I thought to myself, “they have records for adults?”  We only had children’s records at home.  When my mother played the 45 on our portable record player, I was disappointed.  Edith Piaf sang, “Padam, Padam, Padam…”  I didn’t know what the word “padam” meant!  I never thought about it much until a few weeks later when I tried the flipside.  The first words were terrifying, “Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s’effondrer, et la terre peut bien s’écrouler.”  Woah!  I thought, I’ll stick to Bibbidi bobbidi boo from Walt Disney’s Cinderella.  Of course, later in life, after having loved and lost, I understood the meaning of the words of L’Hymne à l’amour and today, it is my absolutely favourite French song and it always reminds me of my mother.

My mother was very much ahead of her time.  Although she probably wouldn’t have called herself a feminist, she had very little regard for male authority.  When a school principal threatened to give me the strap because I had forgotten to do homework, she threatened to call the police (click here for details).  She instinctively knew that the state had no business disciplining her children.  That was her job.  As for the men in red cloaks who lived at the Vatican, they weren’t about to tell her how to conduct her personal life.  She was Christian and she believed in God but the rules from Rome?  I don’t think so.  Closer to home, she would even tease my father about his work as an administrator at CN hinting that more time was spent at the office water cooler than at desks actually working!  He would just laugh it off.  If nothing else, she could ALWAYS make him laugh.

As for competing with men, she would have thought…. why compete with men when I can manipulate them?  It’s much for fun!  When I think of my mother, I think of hair, lipstick, cleavage, legs, high heels and perfume!

My mother’s official engagement photo.

My mother’s choice in perfume reads like a hit parade of 20th century perfumery.  When the above photo was taken in the early 50s, she would have been wearing Fleurs de Rocaille by Caron, the 1934 version when it was a classy, soapy-clean floral… perfect for a doctor’s daughter.  Later in the early 60s, she wore Crêpe de Chine by Millot (1925), the first perfume I remember her wearing.  Then, L’Air du Temps by Nina Ricci (1948) when it was still great followed by Fidji by Guy Laroche (1966), when IT was still great.  I can also remember Calandre by Paco Rabanne (1969).  So, as you see, my mother was constantly updating her perfume to suit the taste of the day.  Later in life, she wore Muguet des Bois by Coty (a drugstore marvel) and my sister kept her well stocked with Happy by Clinique (1998) eau de toilette and handcream, which she loved.

When my father and I had a falling out, my mother extended the olive branch.  She coyly disguised an invitation for supper to myself and my first boyfriend, Clément, challenging us to ride our bikes from our downtown apartment to my parents’ house in Saint-Laurent, perhaps an hour’s ride.  “If you can get here on your bikes, I will provide the steaks.”  My dad cooked them on the grill in our backyard.  The reconciliation with my father started on that day.

There is so much more I could write, it would take a novel but suffice it to say that she raised 4 children and when the kids were grown up she volunteered 2 days a week for over 20 years at a local hospital, no doubt with lots of perfume trailing her down the corridors back when wearing perfume wasn’t a felony!

In her last days, she refused to eat.  My sister and I knew the end was near… without food how can we sustain life?  I thought of Frida Kahlo’s last painting of the luscious, juicy watermelons (1954).  She painted the fruit cut open exposing the red and pink flesh and the seeds, suggesting more watermelons to come.  Eight days before she died, Frida signed the painting with red paint and added the words “Viva la Vida”.

Long live life.

 

 

 

 

Posted by Normand Cardella on April 24, 2018

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