I had mentioned in my last post that I could eulogize my mother at a later date. I wrote the eulogy for her Celebration of Life that took place on Easter weekend, and I thought I might as well re-print it here for posterity’s sake. I’ve lost other speeches in the past, so maybe this will be a better archive.
Leonore Verena Kussmann (born Bertele, a.k.a Lolo) was born in Kehl, Germany in 1943. World War II was in full swing and ravaging Europe. She was the youngest of three girls and would never meet her father. Her youngest years were spent in a house in a village called Sulzburg; that house did not belong to her family because their own home had been bombed. I remember hearing a story about how my grandmother and her 3 daughters had to pick leftover potatoes from a farmer’s field to have enough to eat, and they did this till my mother had bloody feet. There were some nice times too, because she’d tell stories of various hijinks she got up to in that village.
After the war, some people had money and wanted to learn tennis, and providing lessons became my grandmother’s way of putting food on the table. My mother, a natural athlete, took to the sport well, and I can report that well into middle-age, she could win games against opponents who could hit harder or move faster, or both.
Being the youngest, and perhaps feeling somewhat underfoot, she developed a real independent streak so she found herself moving to Mannheim to live with her grandmother. Brace yourselves for more athleticism, because she joined a renowned rowing club – Der Mannheimer Ruderverein Amicitia.
It was there she met my father, Klaus. She’d never forgive me if I didn’t tell this story…
She had gone to the Opera and was expected at a rowing club party not far away. She spotted my dad and recognized him from the club, and, not wanting to walk alone, she suggested they walk together. Apparently he agreed without much enthusiasm. Now, I’ve seen some pictures of her from back then, so I can say with confidence that what she took to be cool indifference was nothing of the sort, and probably more nerves and shyness. At any rate, when they arrived at the party, apparently it gave the impression that they were a couple, and that must have been enough to get the ball rolling on one of my personal favourite love stories.
Good love stories have obstacles to overcome, of course. My father was drafted into the army, and my mother sought her fortunes in Canada, first arriving in Montreal, as her French was better than her English at the time. I’ve never been 100% clear on what drove my mother to leave Germany behind, but she described feeling stifled, so I suppose it was that old independent streak asserting itself again. I don’t know a lot about that period in their lives, somehow my mother ended up in Toronto, my father completed his service and perhaps a little extra while they exchanged letters. Eventually they reunited here, and reignited their love affair; though knowing my father was robbed of all his worldly goods on the ocean voyage over makes one wonder how many options he had. Nonetheless they started their lives together as new Canadians – their first wedding was at City Hall, though they’d have a bigger ceremony back in Germany for friends and relatives.
As a newlywed couple, I have to imagine they were starting to design the blueprint of the Kussmann family lifestyle. They made friendships with like-minded couples of German and Austrian extraction lke the Flaser, the Stahbergs, the Niemuellers, and others.
Now I need you to get ready, because we are on the precipice of the most awesome part of the story: my arrival, of course. But before that, we have to overcome another obstacle – infertility. Or, at least, apparent infertility. After some struggles to get pregnant, the best medical procedures of the time (early 70s) determined that my father would not be able to produce offspring. So when Leonore found herself pregnant, there were some questions for the doctor. The doctor said something along the lines of “if you trust your wife, and you wanted to get pregnant, what’s the issue?” Other couples might have split up over accusations and suspicions, but I have over 35 years of being told how much I look like my father as evidence that everything was on the up and up.
We moved into the house on Macklingate, and soon enough, we were a family of four when Ralph was born. Scarborough gets a bad rap sometimes, but it really was the ideal place to grow up. My parents wanted us to be well-rounded, and we were able to participate in a French Immersion program at school, get piano lessons, be part of many different sports programs and Scouting. No matter the changes, it seemed like Leonore never wanted to leave there.
They also bought a cottage in Muskoka. My first memory of visiting involved practically tunneling our way through snow just to get in the door, and being deathly cold for what seemed like forever while my parents built up the fire and waited for the heat to seep into the frozen walls. I’ve always seen family life as an adventure, and I think moments like that are the reason why.
Friends like Eddie Stahlberg and his wife Evy, and the Flasers also had cottages in Muskoka, and our families could visit each other to enjoy the great outdoors in both winter and summer. Cross-country skiing, swimming, tennis and windsurfing were ways my mother could further show off how athletic she was. Both of my parents kept up their rowing skills on the lake too – maybe as a way to remember how they met.
Ralph and I grew into teenagers, which presented challenges. Some of the challenges were common to all teenagers, some were common to Bertele and Kussmann descendants, and some were very different for each of us. I know one of the only ways I’m getting through the teen years is that I saw my parents survive and come out on the other side of it, still loving their kids and most importantly, each other. The feeling was and is still mutual.
We never wanted for anything. My father’s career in real estate didn’t always make for slow and steady income so my mother took a great variety of jobs. While she had a scientific education that enabled her to work as a lab technician for Connaught Laboratories during her earlier days in Canada, by the time she had been a mother for a few years it would have been tough to break back into that job market. She worked in real estate for a short time, in kitchen appliance sales, and as an office assistant for German businesses and the German Canadian Business Association. That last one meant a lot to me – because she got wind of a networking group called the Young Executives Committee (part of the German Canadian Chamber of Commerce) and nudged me into attending their social events. That’s how I met my wife and the mother of my children, Sabine. The Business Association and Chamber also arranged an annual gala ball where many German Canadians got a chance to dress up, look sharp, and dance the night away. I know she had at least one dance with Hartmut, my late and dearly missed father-in-law.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve had to fill out several forms and write in a “main” occupation for my mother. For that, I chose “German School Teacher”, because I think she was active in that capacity the longest. Now, there’s a saying, with a corollary: “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Those who can’t teach, go into administration”. They never met my mother; because she could and did all three. Whenever we’d encounter people from the realm of German language education, we’d get the impression we were related to some kind of celebrity rock-star royalty. She always put her heart and soul into German school and it really showed in how she was regarded.
My grandmother was known as ‘Ama’ rather than ‘Oma’ due to one of my cousins having trouble pronouncing ‘O’s as a toddler. Ralph and I kept that tradition up when we became parents, and I know Eric, Lukas, Lea and Kian will all miss their Ama dearly. She was the best kind of grandmother, like she was the best kind of mother: nurturing, caring. As a grandmother, she had more leeway to spoil, as is her right, but she always respected our individual parenting styles.
In her sunset years, she still had many friendships to keep her busy and happy. There was a group of six called ‘The Sextet’ (we’ll see some photos in the slide deck, thanks to our friend Peter Warth) who continued the adventure with weekends at the cottage, cross-country skiing and other outings. She found a companion in Peter Benedict; she often told us about the fascinating intellectual discussions they had and I want to thank him for keeping her involved in music.
I know many of us will think of her as a great hostess, who always took care of us in gatherings big and small. I hope you all can think of her taking care of us in this gathering, one last time.
