It was the kissing that reminded me of my first relationship with a woman in the 1950s. I hadn’t thought about her in a long time. I was 21. She was 28 and married. We worked in the same department store in Montreal. She had been inviting me for dinner often, and I happily went, as she was an excellent cook. One night her husband went to a meeting and she thought he wouldn’t be back for a few hours. After we finished cleaning up the dirty dishes, she suggested we go to sit on the couch in the living room. She asked, “Have you ever kissed a woman?’’ We had a very long kiss. I was seduced willingly. Shortly afterwards she rented an apartment where we could be intimate. It had a mattress on the floor and a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.
In 1956, even in liberal Montreal, homosexuality was taboo. The only lesbians we heard about rode motorcycles, wore black leather gear and hung out in seedy bars run by the mafia. But we didn’t know any. I had no one I could talk to safely. I loved the sex but felt overwhelmed by my feelings. Finally, I confided to my sister and made her promise not to tell anyone. She promptly told our mother who raged at me. “Either you give up this woman or you have to leave.” I left and moved into my lover’s and her husband’s home. He had no idea. My sister also told our mutual friends and I never saw any of them again. We never met other lesbians or gay men. The gay scene was completely underground.
In a year, the relationship was over. She went back to her family thousands of miles away. She had asked her family if I could go live with them, but they refused. While I discovered that sex with a woman was wonderful, I was overwhelmed by my feelings. For the next three or four years I hunkered down living with my parents. I went to work in the morning and stayed home at night. I was beset with feelings that I had never felt before. I was depressed but, fortunately, I never thought of suicide.
A few years later, I was introduced to John. We both worked for the same company. We started seeing each other every night. A few months later, my mother made me breakfast, which was highly unusual. She suggested that I consider marrying John. Mother really liked John. I thought about it for a few weeks and then proposed to him. Four months later we married. Five years later, our first daughter was born. Two years later, I gave birth to our second daughter. Our son came three years after that. In 1974, when our son was two years old, we moved to a market town just south of Hamburg, Germany. A year later, we were transferred to Brussels where we lived for seven years.
It seems so long ago. In Brussels I joined a feminist group and spent two years in three successive consciousness-raising groups. I learned the politics of women’s lives, especially married women. In 1977, our group helped organize a conference dealing with women’s issues. Contraception was illegal in Ireland. Abortion was illegal in almost all countries; We would discuss these subjects and others at the conference. On the first day, 200 lesbians came from Berlin. These mostly young women couldn’t believe that lesbian issues would only be discussed on the fifth and last day of the conference, March 8th, International Women’s Day. The Berlin lesbians protested by wearing paper bags over their heads with slits for eyes and mouth. These represented lives spent in the closet. They were kissing everywhere in the halls of the convention centre. The program was changed to discussing lesbian issues on all five days. I felt overwhelmed by the memories of my long ago lover.
All during the following year, I tried to figure out how I could live as a lesbian. Finally, after the Christmas holidays, I told my husband I wanted a sabbatical. I found an ad in an English-language newspaper advertising for a roommate. Moving out was the first step. I’d be home on the weekends. That soon changed when I met a woman in my karate group. Even though she didn’t identify as a lesbian and had a boyfriend, she wanted us to be lovers. The sabbatical ended. Now I saw my children on Sundays
My new lover and I moved my children to Judith’s, a friend’s who lived above the stable at a chateau. There was a horse that my older daughter wanted to ride and all three loved Judith’s two collie dogs. I found a permanent job and a studio apartment. My lover promptly moved in. She was afraid of her boyfriend as he had keys to her apartment.
Four and a half years later, I was ready to move back home to Canada. John was now working for a Belgian company and wouldn’t pay for the children’s private school. I proposed to my husband that we return and that we live together even though I still considered myself a lesbian. We moved to Toronto. My husband looked for a job and I found a house with separate space for me. That only lasted eighteen months. I felt I had my feet on two boards, wide apart from each other I was stretched between two worlds.
I was certainly not work-ready as I spent a lot of time checking out the queer scene and couldn’t settle down. I found a studio apartment in a co-op and was finally able to find a job. At no point was I willing to ask for support money from my husband. The children were now on their own during the week. My first daughter was able to drive. My second daughter was trying to manage the house. And my son was changing schools every year. I regret that I couldn’t find better ways to connect with the children while living some distance away from the family home. My older daughter expressed her unhappiness and resentment in harsh communications with me and it got progressively worse. It never improved. Instead, it got harder and harder to connect with her.
Many years later, my older daughter and her partner had a son. In the beginning I was allowed to help and babysit but that didn’t last too long. When my grandson turned eight years old, my daughter sent me a text saying that he wanted me to come to his hockey game. I was elated that he wanted to see me. I hadn’t seen him or my daughter since a year before when I had decided to take a break. Because of the hostility, there had been no communication between us in that time. My reunion with my grandson was wonderful. My daughter’s partner and his adult son were being careful, not knowing if any fights would transpire. I believe that my daughter’s partner had something to do with the reconciliation. The visit went so well. My second daughter and her partner had given me a gift card for their nephew at a game store. The weekend’s shopping trip gave us a chance for a reconciliation. It felt good to make peace after all these years.
