In 2011, my father had a heart attack while he was on the table getting his heart checked out. It seems the particles of the dye they use to check blood flow were large enough to clog an artery.
After he was safe, but while he was still lying in a hospital bed, he told us stories about his childhood. My stoic father just kept talking. I think he was uncomfortable about all the people streaming into his room and embarrassed about being the center of attention.
He had been a ward of the state after authorities took him from his parents when he was 8 years old. His parents were drunks who barely took care of themselves. His older half-sister had been the one to call and get him and his siblings out of that house.
Hearing these stories all at once hit me hard and made me want to learn more about his family and my mom’s. My mom’s ancestry, which was solidly Canadian, was pretty well documented already. But soon I hope to subscribe to some Canadian websites to learn more.
This blog is a record of my discoveries about my family and myself.