Small or large, urban parks are even more a part of our daily lives in the summer. But what makes up their soul? Which one occupies a special place in our hearts and our routine? For this series, The duty goes through some of them, sometimes accompanied by readers who wanted to share their story. Today: La Fontaine Park, in Montreal.
“It was over there,” recalls Sheny Morales, 76, pointing to the edge of the pond, covered in centuries-old trees. “We were there … all the time.” When there was a birthday to celebrate or a sorrow to console. Or more often, just to revel in the time we had together.
This plot of land, located not far from the bridge that spans the pond in La Fontaine Park, allowed Sheny, some forty years ago, to integrate into his host society. And above all, to savor so many unique and privileged moments with his brother Victor, who died of AIDS at the age of 40.
“It was our meeting place, for my brother, my sister and me. We all lived nearby,” recalls the gray-haired woman, with a mixture of gratitude and nostalgia. “We also came to the park with friends, for picnics. I met a lot of Quebecers there.” In fact, the trio, originally from Guatemala, was at the park so often that “it was a bit like home,” says Sheny, laughing.
However, going to the park was not natural for this woman who worked in the community sector in Quebec. “It was a learning experience for me because in Guatemala, we don’t have this culture of going to the park. When you’re part of the middle class, you’re afraid to go. You think you’re going to get robbed. It’s stupid, but that’s how it is.”
Integration
Arriving in Montreal in 1986, at the age of 38, Sheny settled with her three daughters aged 11, 16 and 18 on the Plateau Mont-Royal, not far from her brother and sister, who had arrived in Quebec a few years earlier.
In Guatemala, Sheny was a history professor at the University of San Carlo. “It was a kind of UQAM… protest!” she says. By the 1980s, government repression had become so prevalent that leaving had become the best option for her safety. Ten years earlier, her husband, a pilot, had died in a plane crash.
“When I arrived here, I was nostalgic for my country,” recalls the septuagenarian, sitting on a bench in La Fontaine Park. “It wasn’t easy to leave Guatemala, to leave my roots behind.” But her integration was smooth and easy, she says. Especially thanks to these encounters under the park’s century-old trees. “That was my contact with Quebec culture. It was magnificent. The people were very welcoming, they invited us into their homes. That’s why I have a lot of love for this park.”
At the same time, there were also many outings, suggested by his brother and sister, who were already well integrated into Montreal life. “My brother and sister had an active social life. We went to the theatre, to bars, to the Jazz Festival. Every Sunday, we went to the tam-tams. It was a wonderful time!”
Complicity
But at home, it was sometimes “chaotic.” Her daughters had to learn to live in an apartment, rather than in a house, as in Guatemala, and without a maid, so doing the cleaning and cooking themselves. “Every time I had a problem, I talked to my brother… The complicity between the two of us was extraordinary. We could talk about anything.”
Discussions, filled with tenderness, that often lasted forever at La Fontaine Park. And which, over the years, took different forms. While his daughters accompanied him in the early years, their presence faded over the years. Then, illness infiltrated these moments spent outside of time.
“When Victor found out he was HIV positive, he still kept coming to the park,” Sheny recalls. “He was tired, but he could still walk, quietly.” The early days were very difficult. “He felt guilty for not being careful enough and for causing our parents pain.” [avec sa mort prochaine]. But over time, Victor developed a kind of wisdom. He became more serene. We talked together about life as a passage… temporary.
Peace
On December 23, 1995, Victor died at his home near La Fontaine Park. “In his last weeks of life, he told me that what he wanted to leave me, once he was gone, was peace.” A peace that the young man, who died in the prime of life, seemed to have found and which certainly soothed his loved ones.
But for many years, Sheny was no longer able to set foot on the ground of La Fontaine Park. “It was too many memories. I didn’t want to feel all that sadness.” She even decided to leave Quebec, two years after Victor’s death, to return to Guatemala. “It had become too difficult here.” After an exile of a few years, Sheny finally returned to her host land, but by settling in Laval, further from La Fontaine Park, but still cherishing the memory of Victor.
“I never met anyone like him again,” she said, her eyes full of memories. “He had incredible generosity. He gave a lot. That was his secret. Even today, there are people who talk to me about him.” A memory — an imperishable one — that will forever be part of the history of Parc La Fontaine.