L\u2019autre jour, on m\u2019invite \u00e0 parler de mon livre dans un centre d'h\u00e9bergement et de soins de longue dur\u00e9e (CHSLD). Mes auditeurs sont surtout des femmes de mon \u00e2ge et trois hommes relativement en bonne forme. Ils ont tous l\u2019air heureux de pouvoir me questionner sur ma vie, vanter mes d\u00e9licieux d\u00e9jeuners et s\u2019enqu\u00e9rir de mon avenir. Je r\u00e9ponds \u00e0 ceci, \u00e0 cela, je patauge et leur raconte quelques morceaux \u00e9pic\u00e9s de ma longue vie.<\/p>\n
Puis, l\u2019animatrice de l\u2019\u00e9v\u00e9nement m\u2019offre de rencontrer quelques patientes alit\u00e9es qui, semble-t-il, me connaissent aussi, mais ne peuvent venir me rencontrer. Comme j\u2019accepte de grimper \u00e0 l\u2019\u00e9tage, nous rencontrons quelques braves femmes luttant ardemment contre des cancers. J\u2019entrouvre la porte de la chambre\u00a0118 et j\u2019entends\u00a0: \u00ab\u00a0Tabarnak, J\u00e9sus! Tu m\u2019as encore oubli\u00e9e cette nuit!\u00a0\u00bb La femme s\u2019adresse au crucifix dor\u00e9 qu\u2019elle a plac\u00e9 dans sa chambre. \u00ab\u00a0Tout mon monde est mort, mon hostie de mari, mes deux fr\u00e8res, mes trois s\u0153urs, mes deux filles et le gar\u00e7on de la plus jeune, mort du sida. Que le diable m\u2019emporte si le bon Dieu ne veut plus de moi!\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
La pauvre animatrice me confie \u00e0 mots couverts que cette malheureuse femme est un r\u00e9el miracle, une force de la nature. Depuis deux ans, elle a subi toutes sortes de chirurgies et elle vit toujours\u2026 malgr\u00e9 elle, on dirait. Je ne sais plus quoi dire, je b\u00e9gaye, j\u2019\u00e9chappe des mots. Je vois l'a\u00een\u00e9e tirer son drap au-dessus de sa t\u00eate. Elle ne souhaite plus nous parler, je suppose. Mon c\u0153ur cherche un petit mot de consolation, mais rien ne sort de ma bouche stup\u00e9faite. L\u2019animatrice m\u2019invite ensuite \u00e0 visiter les installations de la cuisine, les tables agr\u00e9ablement dispos\u00e9es et le menu \u00e9quilibr\u00e9. Je n\u2019ai que des f\u00e9licitations pour ce genre d\u2019\u00e9tablissement. Je laisse quelques livres \u00e0 la biblioth\u00e8que de l\u2019endroit, et je remercie l\u2019animatrice avant de quitter le CHSLD.<\/p>\n
J\u2019ai encore toute ma t\u00eate, mes pattes bien droites et mes doigts vaillants. Quelle chance de pouvoir m\u2019exprimer, \u00e9crire presque chaque jour et exercer mes vieilles m\u00e9ninges! Ma t\u00eate est un tonneau in\u00e9puisable de souvenirs et plusieurs r\u00e9miniscences m\u2019assaillent et m\u00e9ritent de revivre un court moment. Je me souviens comme si c\u2019\u00e9tait hier\u00a0: nous, les petites filles mod\u00e8les, avions notre propre chapelet et devions obligatoirement nous rendre \u00e0 l\u2019\u00e9glise vers 7\u00a0h du soir pour assister au chapelet. Si nous avions oubli\u00e9 notre mantille ou notre chapelet, il fallait retourner les chercher \u00e0 la maison. Je me souviens aussi du solf\u00e8ge qu\u2019une religieuse m\u2019obligeait \u00e0 pratiquer pendant deux longues ann\u00e9es. Je n\u2019avais aucun talent en musique et cela n\u2019a pas du tout chang\u00e9! La seule chose que ma m\u00e9moire a enregistr\u00e9e c\u2019est \u00ab\u00a0do, r\u00e9, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do\u00a0\u00bb.<\/p>\n
Un autre souvenir refait surface! Un certain vendredi soir, juste avant mon anniversaire. En ouvrant la porte de la cuisine, j\u2019ai vu ma m\u00e8re tremper une pomme dans un sirop br\u00fblant. J\u2019avais d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu des enfants en croquer, mais c\u2019\u00e9tait la premi\u00e8re fois qu\u2019elle me pr\u00e9sentait une pomme de tire, pour s\u00fbr, pour mon anniversaire. La semaine d\u2019\u00e9cole \u00e9tait finie et maman avait fait bouillir des petites fraises des champs pour en tirer un sirop rouge et en napper les pommes. Fr\u00e9rot tapait du pied pour \u00eatre servi le premier, mais la priorit\u00e9 fut accord\u00e9e \u00e0 la f\u00eat\u00e9e. Jamais je n\u2019oublierai ce temps des pommes de tire. Une ann\u00e9e, j\u2019en ai pr\u00e9par\u00e9 \u00e0 l\u2019Halloween pour mes jeunes enfants, mais ils ont tous pr\u00e9f\u00e9r\u00e9 les bonbons color\u00e9s qu\u2019ils qu\u00eataient de porte en porte.<\/p>\n
L\u2019\u00e2ge est une roue qui ne cesse jamais de tourner.
\nOn na\u00eet, on vit, on meurt, nos c\u0153urs n\u2019arr\u00eateront pas d\u2019aimer.
\nQui pourrait pr\u00e9dire ma derni\u00e8re heure?
\nJ\u2019avance, je recule, je grimpe, je tombe.
\nMon esprit translucide laisse passer la lumi\u00e8re.
\nDepuis toujours la couleur rehausse mon allure.
\nLe jaune soleil me garde joyeuse.
\nLe bleu du ciel et de la mer m\u2019apaise.
\nLe orange m\u2019invite \u00e0 l\u2019aventure.
\nLe vert nourrit mes espoirs.
\nLe rouge et le rose excitent mon petit c\u0153ur.
\nLa page blanche m\u2019invite \u00e0 \u00e9crire
\nEt tous les tons de noir me font peur.<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
L\u2019autre jour, on m\u2019invite \u00e0 parler de mon livre dans un centre […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":47107,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-47106","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"The other day, I was invited to give a lecture about my book in a long-term care facility. My listeners were mostly women my age and three men in relatively good shape. They all seemed happy to have the opportunity to question me about my life, rave about my delicious breakfasts and inquire about my future. I took their questions about this and that, I floundered a little and shared some spicy bits of my long life.\r\n\r\nThen the host invited me to meet with a few residents who knew of me but were confined to their beds. I accepted and we went up one floor where we met a few brave women who were doggedly fighting cancer. I opened the door to Room 118 half-way and was startled by the words \u201cFor Christ\u2019s sake, Jesus! You forgot me again last night!\u201d The woman was talking to the gold-coloured crucifix hanging in her room. \u201cEveryone around me is dead \u2013 my damned husband, my two brothers, my three sisters, my two daughters and the youngest one\u2019s boy from AIDS. The devil can take me if the good Lord no longer wants me!\u201d\r\n\r\nThe host explained to me in a hushed voice that the poor woman was a living miracle, a force of nature. In the last two years, she had endured several surgeries for various issues and was still alive\u2026 despite herself, it seems. I don\u2019t know what to say, I stutter, at a loss for words. The elderly resident pulled the bed sheet over her head, signalling she no longer wanted to speak with us. My heart searched for a few words of consolation, but nothing came out of my stunned mouth. My host then invited me to visit the kitchen and view the well-arranged dining area and balanced menu. I only have praise for establishments like this one. I leave behind a few copies of my book at the library and thank my host before taking my leave.\r\n\r\nI still have a clear mind, sturdy legs to walk on and hard-working fingers. I am blessed to be able to express myself in words almost every day and give my old brain a workout! My head is an inexhaustible barrel of memories; many of them assail me and deserve to be brought back to life for a short while. I remember it like it was yesterday: each one of us in our group of perfectly behaved girls had a rosary and was required to attend church at 7 p.m. every evening to say our prayers. If we\u2019d forgotten our rosary or mantilla, we had to go back home to get it. I also remember all the sight-singing a nun forced me to practise for 2 long years. I had no musical talent then and it\u2019s still true today! The only thing my memory managed to record is \u201cdo, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do.\u201d\r\n\r\nYet another memory surfaces! It was a Friday night, right before my birthday. I opened the kitchen door, I saw my mother dipping an apple in boiling syrup. I\u2019d seen other children enjoying them, but it was the first time she\u2019d made us candy apples, a special treat for my birthday. The school week was over, and Mom had boiled small wild strawberries to make a red glaze for the apples. My brother was stomping his foot to be first in line, but the honour was of course given to the birthday girl. I\u2019ll never forget those candy apples. One year for Halloween, I prepared some for my own kids, but they all preferred the coloured candies they\u2019d collected in their baskets.\r\n\r\nAge is a wheel that never ceases to turn.\r\nWe are born, we live, we die, our hearts won\u2019t stop loving.\r\nWho can predict my last hour?\r\nI move forward, I take a step back, I climb, I fall.\r\nMy translucent spirit lets the light in.\r\nColour has always brightened my appearance.\r\nThe yellow of the sun keeps me happy.\r\nThe blue of the sky and sea soothes me.\r\nOrange invites me on adventures.\r\nGreen gives me hope.\r\nRed and pink excite my heart.\r\nThe white page bids me to write.\r\nAnd all the shades of black scare me.\r\n\r\nCORA\r\n\u2764\ufe0f"},"yoast_head":"\n