When someone we love passes, we tend to think about how they impacted our lives and how we feel about their being gone. These stories reveal something about the person, but only through our own feelings and experiences. With this living document, I invite you to remember who Chris was. This is about Christine, not you and me. This is what she wanted
Christine was a woman of many strengths and instincts. She could spot things in people that you didn’t normally see just by observing them or listening to them for a while. If you were lucky enough to get into her circle of trust, her loyalty to you would never waver.
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Chris accepted responsibility and did not shirk from it. Her strong convictions gave her the strength to take on the challenge of raising the boys, taking on a family she didn’t know. She accepted that responsibility, stuck by them and made a home for them and gave them what they needed.
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She did not talk about herself. She worked hard for others and shared all that she had. She had a way of sharing knowledge that was scientific, physical, natural, and metaphysical, all at the same time. Instead of talking about herself and what she was feeling, she made others her priority. Even toward the end of her life, when her body was wracked with pain, she did not complain.
She was concerned about me, her husband, and not herself even though she was the one suffering with constant pain—pain she endured, sometimes with a grimace, but never a complaint.
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She was a partner and a friend who never wavered in her loyalty, her responsibility and her sharing of herself. We understood each other’s frailties and strengths and we accepted those in each other.
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She never shied away from sharing her thoughts or opinions regardless of what others may have thought and stuck by those opinions unless you had good evidence to change them. Her generosity was boundless, and she never hesitated to share what she had right from her last cigarette to her food or clothing. She thrived on being able to share. I benefitted from that too. Those four qualities of Strength, loyalty to herself and others, sense of responsibility and generosity of spirit and material things made her into the person she was and was loved. She accepted me as a partner and stuck with me. She kept the ground beneath our feet solid to give us that sense of belonging.”
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Chris wanted to be accepted and cared for, and she connected to those wants by caring for others.
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When I met Chris in the Community in ST.Charles in the late 1970’s, a community east of Sudbury, what first caught my attention were the lines on her face. It seemed as if she had gone through a lot and was kind of quiet too. Over the next while I would observe her around the community doing different things with the kids or working in the garden. She was camping out as well since she was a visitor to the community so lived in a tent for a good part of the summers she was out there. She had the summers off as she was a school teacher at the Wembley Public school in Sudbury . She was an integration teacher that taught deaf students at Wembley. I had only known her as a teacher from the city and a white teacher at that who was out with all of the other people who wanted to be a part of our community.
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Our paths crossed one afternoon while I was working in the barn. I was getting boards from the second level of the barn and throwing them down to the first floor through this hole in the floor. It was one of those bright sunny summer days when it seemed the community was empty of people probably gone into town or at home doing chores. I was working away when I heard someone come into the barn. We greeted each other and she asked what I was doing. Told her I was getting some boards for a project. She volunteered to help me which I thought was good and it would speed up the job. It not only would be easier but it would be nice having some company. I started passing the boards down to her and she would stack them in a pile off to the side. She was standing close to one of the pillars that held up the second floor and occasionally, one of the boards would bang it by accident. She said be careful as I think there might be a bee’s nest in this pillar. I said I don’t think they will bother you. I handed another board down and accidentally hit the pillar again, then I heard a small scream and her yelling that she got stung not once but twice. Then she said that I hit the pillar on purpose just so she would get stung. I of course ardently defended myself saying it was an accident that I hit the pillar with the board. Then she asked why are you smiling then? I was smiling because I didn’t believe she was stung but she just said so to make me feel guilty. But then I started to believe she was stung. We stood there, her accusing me and me defending myself. The whole time though she had this kind of twinkle in her eye and wry smile that led me to believe that she was putting me on and just having fun at my discomfort. We decided to have a break and go get some coffee. That afternoon of working together despite the bees grew into a working relationship doing other projects around the community or at my house. The ease of working together and the comfort within the work felt good and natural.
Over the years we would tell that story about our first encounter and what happened that day in the barn, of course we each would tell our perspective and again I would be defending myself saying it was an accident and her saying I did it on purpose. The magic to me about the story was that each time we told it I would see that twinkle and wry smile just as it was that first time. I loved that look which reminded me of those summer days and comfort. That day was the start of us working together not as a couple but just as two people who liked to do things in a way that was fun and very comfortable.
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Dwight Powless
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We were fortunate to have shared over 30 years with Christine as an important part of our lives. We started out as good friends and we became family. She was our sister, always kind and honest. She loved to share anything she had without hesitation. She shared her vast knowledge of everything, from the best way to add milk in fresh tea to gardening, cooking, and sewing. She also shared her understanding of life and faith in her spiritual beliefs. We will always hear her voice and remember those things she gave to us, and she will continue be an important part of our lives.
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Ray and Sophia Ray Rabliauskas
To call Chris remarkable—as one nurse told her husband in palliative care—conveys but a smidgen of the impact she had on me and other women whose lives she touched. She was one of those rare people with both the smarts and the stamina to do extraordinary things.
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She made me feel special. We often spoke by phone and had two precious visits in the weeks before she passed. I felt the force of her character wrap around me like heat from a fire.
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Prime Minister Trudeau, at the memorial service for my former newsroom colleague, Jim Carr, described him as having a warmth and intensity that made you feel like you were the centre of his attention, that he was listening to you and responding in such a positive way—that you felt like, well, kind of a superman. We all chuckled when the Prime Minister added that he had felt a little let down when he realized he wasn’t the only one. Our friend made everyone feel just as special.
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This was quintessential Chris too. She had those same gifts, along with a generous dose of humour, inexhaustible curiosity, a sharp wit, and a mind that could figure out anything, be it a principle of astronomy, physics, or a way to cook corn fritters.
Things had way of turning out perfectly when she was around.
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Visits were always full of laughter. If you’re fortunate enough to be loved by such a friend, then that's a treasure to lift you up and carry you forward. If your friends were also her friends, you're really lucky.
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I want to share one story about my friend, a story about a metaphorical fire, the kind of fire that lives inside each of us. Chris taught me how to look after the fire inside me and how it could help people around me.
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This happened many years ago, near the beginning of my career as a news reporter at one of Canada’s best known and oldest regional dailies. I was a woman educated to be a hard-hitting news writer, out to shake up the status quo.
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Chris and I were talking about how I could use my writing like that fire, to help other people find common ground and act with kindness and work together. She said to me, “Imagine yourself as a fire. That fire can flame up. It can burn out. It can scorch you. And it can also glow steady and warm everyone around it. People love warm fires. Think of a campfire on a summer evening.”
Women have been tending cooking fires for thousands of years. I could relate. “You can make your fire do just about anything. And if you make it into a beacon, and tend it carefully, other people will want to come and warm themselves by your fire.” She was telling me, “Your words are your fuel. Your energy and your feelings are your tools, and you work with that fire and the air and all the elements like a story takes shape on a page.”
As I listened to Chris, I could see the feeling that moves the world around us, and it makes the elements come to life. “If you can feel that energy and channel it into your fire,” Chris told me, “you can help people see the good around them and find the common ground to work together.”
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Sometime later, Chris gave me a little corn husk doll, no bigger than an iPhone, that carried two full pails of water, one in each hand. I’ll never know for sure but perhaps there was a message in that gift, too: If I let my fire get out of control, I could always douse it. A little bit.
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For the next several decades, I tended my fire in my stories and at times I got it right. I could feel it. Sometimes people told me the way the feelings made the words come to life moved them and touched their hearts. That was one of Chris’ gifts, to reach into someone and help them recognize their potential and nurture it to help other people. If my little fire was a beacon to anyone, it was thanks to her.
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She embodied a spirit that was full of hope for this world, and I believe that while we leave our bodies behind as we leave the physical world, the spirit goes on.
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I’ll be eternally grateful to my friend.
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Alex Paul
Chris moved through life with grace. She shared that grace in all that she did. She lived and thrived in a bicultural world. She understood Cultural values and practiced them in a way that taught us how to apply them in our own way, in our own culture. She was a natural teacher who could always share with you knowledge that fit the moment, always without pushing. Always gentle. With grace.
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Every time we saw Chris, it was a time of joy and inspiration. I remember talking with her about Indigenous linguistics—trying to understand how words that describe values in Indigenous Culture represent action, and to practice those values is an action. When we do not practice those values, it is also an action. In English, these words are nouns and adjectives, and one of the reasons for conflict among us is that interpretation is subjective. When we want to be kind—to be helpful, for instance—we may interpret this as relieving the burden of others in some way. This may take away their ability to become stronger, so true kindness may require that we step back and find another way to provide support. Chris never said these words to me precisely, but she gave me insight into what kindness in action can be. Chris understood this complex web of choosing action that is kind without trying to fix everyone else, as many of us do. Her kindness was firm, generous and honest.
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Her grace came from her inherent belief in herself as an Indigenous woman, the generations of values and her faith in her continued connection with the universe and her role in it.
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Hatem Khouaja and Linda Manning
Christine was my lifeline to life. When I first met, really met Christine, we laughed long into the night. She recognized and acknowledge my pain and sorrow and told me it will be ok. During the brief weekend together, she shared with me a medicine that changed my life forever. It ignited a fire in my spirit that made me want to learn more and to understand more deeply about myself and the medicine. Christine literally saved my life! I told her “you saved my life and I will forever be indebted to you for saving me". Christine told me, "NO, since I saved your life, your life now belongs to me and I have a responsibility to you". I had never heard anything like this before, I always thought it was the other way around. Christine brought together for me the true meaning of sacrifice by helping someone, and the responsibility that comes with it. Everyday I think of Christine and everyday I thank Christine for everything she brought into my life. Someday, I will see Christine again, and I will give her the biggest hug ever. Love you Christine, always and forever.
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Marian
My time knowing Christine was way to short. Meeting and spending time with Christine and Dwight was a great blessing and an honour. Whether it was evening talks in their living room or rocking out to the live performance of Bat Out of Hell in Toronto; it was time I'll always cherish. Christine could be hypnotic when she spoke and I was always astounded by how vast her knowledge was; it seemed limitless. She was so full of wisdom and helped to make sense of things that didn't make sense. Her wisdom affects me still today and ever since she told Marian "if you don't want him to drive off until you have your seatbelt on just leave your car door open. That's what I do!" - thanks Chris. You opened your home and your hearts to Marian and I and I will be forever grateful.
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Vince
Ka pi de naquat ~ Christine, I so enjoyed the times shared and visits with you and Dwight even in the l'il kitchen you's have you still find time and space just to chat and sharing your thoughts and kindness with me. Those moments meant a lot to me. I will never forget the words you said to my daughter Allianne on the day she broke her berry fast that you took on. Chi miigwech. Gi'zaagii'n Christine.
Baamaapii, your brother Albert.
These gifts from Christine we hold dear to our hearts and hold a special place in our curio of important items.
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Syd and Judy
Today, I looked at the sunny skies, I let the soft wind gently slip across my face, and once again I thought of Christine, which has been the case very frequently since I heard of her passing. In my sadness, and to help me deal with this loss, I take comfort in remembering everything that Christine was and what we shared. But most importantly, what she gave me, and that is, something wonderful still exists in humanity in spite of the tumultuous world we live in.
One day, my husband Simon and I shared a lunch with Christine and Dwight. I had heard about Christine, but had never met her. What a memorable experience! I immediately felt drawn to her, like some kind of light or beacon, and I liked her right away. Christine had a wicked sense of humour, her voice was warm and deep, her face inviting, and her eyes were full of sceneries of life with an underlying wisdom. Usually reserved, I felt like I could discuss just about anything with her – life and death, and everything in-between. She reminded me of a wonderful book, all its big pages open in front of me, ready to be discovered and shared.
Simple, honest, vibrant and as straight as an arrow, that was Christine. In the course of our meal, we came to discuss just how much nonsense prevailed in the world we live in, and how much bullshit crowded communications among people. We agreed that unfortunately, this tended to cast shadows on all of us on this Earth. Not surprisingly, Christine was adamant that there should be no bullshit and zero nonsense, she would have none of it. As I listened to her, I kept thinking, “WOW, how right she is”!
As our lunch drew to a close, Christine and I joked that we should each get a t-shirt and have the words “No B.S.” printed on the front and back, for all to see. That would be our way of making our voices heard, of taking a stand. Unfortunately, we never got around to doing so. Now, I owe it to her to get the t-shirt we talked about. No doubt she will get a good chuckle out of it. I will wear this t-shirt in fond memory of Christine and with gratitude for everything that this incredible woman gave me.
Dear Christine, Simon thanks you for everything he shared with you and he sends his love.
We will continue to feel your presence gliding gently through the breeze as we look at the sky. Memories of what we shared with you will be like rainbows after the rain, soothing and comforting. Glide on and show us the way. Have a fabulous journey in the land of Light.
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Marie-Josée Catta and Simon Piché
Dear Christine,
I felt comfort in your presence, during our visits at your home. It was as if you were listening beneath the words and I will always remember the life messages you shared. One of the greatest, is the unconditional positive regard for others. Miigwech for sharing your kindness, honesty and strength, I’m forever grateful.
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take care,
Robin Potts