I'm writing this to you Mom on what would have been your 100th birthday. So much to say, so little space to say it.
There's a picture of you, Bernice Roi, a little baby, sitting so cute in a baptismal gown, staring directly at the camera, a little ring on your finger. A little ring. Who'd a thought of that? What a nice touch! Your parents, Leah and Albert Roi must have truly been proud that day. You were their first born after so many miscarriages. They made sure to get a proper photograph of your baptism a few weeks after your birth, to mark the occasion one hundred years ago. Thank goodness. A treasure for us on this day.
You would grow to be quite the lady. Smart in school, you finished highschool only to marry your cousin, Celestin Dupuis, and be a stay at home mom. An eventual mother of five, you were amazing from the beginning. You sure could cook, sew and knit. And as if you didn't have enough to do raising your own, for many years you took in many children for The Children's Aid.
And knit! One year in the late 1960s, you knitted sweaters for everyone for Christmas--your sisters, spouses, and their children, your children, their spouses and the four grandchildren you had at that time. Maybe twenty in all? But it was a lot. And the men got dark mohair sweater to boot!
You were the true definition of a mother, always giving, never asking anything in return. You always put us and those around you first. I remember the morning your grandchild Brian died. You cried in the kitchen all morning after hearing the news. I'll never forget that. And it was funny when you had trouble watching your son Jimmy (Jake) playing hockey on television. You grew so tense whenever the other team came near his net and you made very save with him. You were so relieved when the game was done. That was you.
So here we are one hundred years after the fact. Here is the Dupuis clan descended directly from you and dad in a picture taken a few years ago now. Even this picture has changed a bit since it was taken.
I want you to know I still miss your meatpies. Big time! Even though you've been gone from us for forty-five years, I know you're still with us, watching over us, loving us. I know you're proud of us. You always were. We are paying tribute to you on this milestone in our family.
May the angels sing your glory on this your your 100th birthday. You've never been forgotten, and are forever in our hearts and memories.
Love, from all of us.