My uncle Camille died yesterday or today. My mother was not able to give me details, too upset. Camille was the last of her brothers. I’ve never been sure how many there were, mamman was one of 24 children (her brother, the priest, numbered them at 23 since one of the babies died before being baptized). I met most of them but mamman had moved away from Quebec, landing in BC finally and so the two of her brothers who followed (Camille and Gabriel, both electricians), were the siblings I knew the best. There was an economic downturn in the 1950s and that’s when mon oncle Camille moved to the US. He went there for work and eventually became a citizen.

He usually worked in California although he went, along with this wife, ma tante Eileen, hauling their mobile home to wherever there was work. They eventually retired to the northwest in Ferndale, WA. Ma tante Eileen is from Vancouver originally and is of a generation that never had any French classes and, despite with living mon oncle Camille for over 50 years I don’t think she learned any French along the way. This must have made for some interesting times as mon oncle Camille’s accent was quite thick.

It was an occasion when mon oncle Camille and ma tante Eileen visited. They’d always traveled from somewhere exotic such as California or Minnesota or wherever the latest construction project had offered work. They always had a very bad tempered Dachshund (my mother claimed that her brother drove the dogs crazy and that’s why they were more inclined to snap at you than lick you).

During my childhood, mon oncle Camille was a beacon of humour with  endless exuberance and appreciation for life. There was always a laugh to be had with him and for that I loved and love him dearly.