I laboriously entered my calendar for Friday: “Funérailles Denise”. Two words that don’t go together.
My lifelike Denise cannot die.
You hurt me for the first time.
Yes, after all these years of friendship, we still saw each other. But our hearts collided.
I feel privileged to have been one of your close friends.
Inspired by the motto of that Quebec you loved so much: “I remember so many unforgettable moments by your side.”
I remember you showing up to your own parties dressed up!
I remember when you came home from the casino a winner, proud as a cat that just ate a mouse.
I remember dinners where, after making your “paw stew,” you would start singing Le Rapide Blanc, “Awingna han, awingna han / There aren’t good men that come in and there are men that come in.” / There are men, nothing.” “That comes in and I don’t care,” he slaps your thighs.
I remember your fierce defense of the French language, your penchant for jokes, well-rounded arguments, beautiful phrases… even if some (unaware of your more humble origins) thought that snobbery.
I remember our disagreements, but I also remember that if I was going to fight with you, I had to find valid arguments. When you contacted me, I polished my weapons. Following your example, I have learned not to let myself be destabilized. How many times have I asked myself in the middle of a discussion, “How would Denise react to that arrow?”
I remember being criticized by people who didn’t have your courage, culture, panache or spirit. I suspected the vultures would try to soil your heritage. But I didn’t think that Le Devoir, where you were a columnist, would give a voice to an obscure professor at UQAM who denounced your so-called “right-wing and moralizing feminist positions”.
Surely they would have answered them with a quote from Albert Camus: “We do not judge the truth of a thought by whether it is from the right or from the left.”
I remember your passionate, genuine feminism, and we shared a desire to empower rather than bully women, encourage them to stand up to express their pride rather than bend down to arouse pity. .
Her feminism was not against men, it was for them. I remember your love for people, your defense of their defeat, their need. The men of Quebec, the most egalitarian in the West, owe you a debt of gratitude.
need love
I remember our last conversation on June 26th, before I went on vacation, with no internet access, no cell service, no messages from you. I told you how much I love you. You have confirmed your friendship and affection for me.
I remember the great journalist as well as the cheeky brat, the stern writer and the sneering prankster.
Denise, my only consolation will be that you left knowing that you were loved. You who needed it so much.
