They’ve built a bypass so that the highway no longer cuts through Sudbury. They’ve done a lot of cosmetic work to help people forget what Sudbury once looked like. During my University years, I took the train east to visit my parents and the Sudbury area, for miles, looked like a moonscape. I remember crying when I saw it. I was born in Sudbury, or rather, Falconbridge.
I was growing tired by this time and needed to get to Sault Ste. Marie. In my heart, I really wanted to visit my friend, Johanne. She and I sat for three years of Sundays in the sixth row side-by-side, while attending Mass at St. Albert the Great Parish in Calgary. She had spent a couple of years taking care of her daughter’s children in Calgary and finally was able to return home to Sudbury. I had hoped to see her on this trip. She had become such a special person in my life.
Instead, I drove around Sudbury and hoped that I had enough gas to make the next small town. It worked out. I had tears as I saw the stack and the rock and all of the new vegetation. The cry came from the story of my beginnings, thinking about Mom and Dad in those early days in the RCAF. I actually spoke out loud during these tears. I don’t know if Max was listening or not. It really didn’t matter. I simply had to articulate what I was feeling. I felt a little piece of my ‘story’ deeply, as I drove that evening. I knew I was getting tired and would have to stop soon. This was the last time I cried on my first day of driving.