I don’t go to pubs, nor have I ever tasted a Guinness. (I prefer red wine.) But every Saint Patrick’s Day I celebrate my Irish heritage and my Grandma Norah by sending cards to my grandchildren. I often choose a card with an Irish blessing like the one written below:
Throughout my life my Irish grandmother has been a bit of a mystery. Maybe you couldn’t call her a mystery since I seldom thought about her. I had other grandparents who lived just across town. I suppose children simply accept life as it’s presented in front of their eyes. Or perhaps I wasn’t very inquisitive then.
Eventually, I did want to know about my paternal grandparents. My dad was dead by then, though, and Grandpa James died when I was a baby.
My sister, my cousins, and I knew only some basic facts about Grandma Norah. She was young when she came to Canada. She married Grandpa James, and she gave birth to five children. At some point we learned that their only daughter died during the 1918 flu pandemic.
After that, the story became hazy. All we knew was that Canada deported Norah and placed three of the four boys in an orphanage. Grandpa James was away, working in California, and for months no one told him about his wife and young sons. Eventually he and the oldest son were told and came back to rescue the younger boys. But why Norah was deported remained a mystery … to her grandchildren, at least. There were various stories, but no one seemed to agree.
Not until my sister and cousin did some serious ancestry research.
The answer to the mystery was something no one wanted to talk about or accept: mental illness.
Last week in Oprah’s interview of Meghan and Harry, we saw how families still shy away from any hint of mental distress. It’s tragic.
My grandma Norah suffered from schizophrenia. Nevertheless, she raised four fine, successful sons.
And, considering the reputation the Irish have for literary talent, Grandma Norah inspired me to keep writing. I regret that I was never able to meet her.
Hidden Valley Road, a New York Times bestseller, and one of Time’s must-reads of 2020, is the true story of a family with 12 children, 6 of whom had schizophrenia. It’s a fascinating book if you’re interested in the subject.
Hi Nicki,
I love the photo of your parents! It’s a sad but interesting discovery about grandmother Norah. The stigma of mental illness remains, to this day, a frustration. Societies need better support structures for those afflicted and their caregivers.
I’m curious about that book, thanks for mentioning it. Another book that comes to mind is “Saints, Scholars, and Schizophrenics: Mental Illness in Rural Ireland.” The author, Nancy Scheper-Hughes, was a college professor of mine for a cultural anthropology class.
p.s. – My sister just relocated up near you!
The more I thought about Grandma Norah, the more I cared about her … too late. I grew up in a place with a large mental hospital at the edge of town. My mom’s best friend worked there. Then in the 1970s they shut it down. I don’t know how good mental health care was at that time, but I do know it hasn’t progressed as much as it should have in the past 50 years.
Your sister contacted me some time ago. I hope we can get together before too long.
Mental illness is so difficult to treat and often the patient is resistant to treatment, but what you say about funding is certainly true, Nicki. My son-in-law has a severe form of paranoia but it can be extremely difficult for him to obtain help. That has a knock on effect on my daughter, who also has depressive tendencies. Hard to rise above it. Sad for your grandma!
I’m so sorry about your daughter and son-in-law, and I wish them well. Although I didn’t know my grandmother, the book I mentioned in my blog, Hidden Valley Road, opened my eyes to the pain not only of those suffering from schizophrenia but also that of their family members.
Maybe you could write a book about your grandma! Even if most of it had to be fiction, for lack of information…
That would be a real challenge. Maybe her story could be told from several points of view. Hmm. Yes, an interesting challenge.
Nicki, from your post here I feel we all know a little more about your Grandmother Norah. You have created a powerful image of a strong adventurous woman who traversed the Atlantic for a new life. Mental health is only becoming a mainstream and acceptable topic nowadays, in the 21st century, so it must have been almost impossible for people to comprehend then. Maybe the death of her daughter was part of the cause of her illness. Was she deported back to Ireland and never returned home again? Did she never see the children again? Oh, the anguish and pain of such enforced separation. Nicki, you write a touching familial post here but feel this could become a topical and fascinating fiction book … any thoughts?
Hi Annika. Grandma Norah was deported to London. She stayed with her sister there. Later she stayed near her in her own apartment. My dad and she exchanged letters for a number of years. Then he stopped hearing from her. Sadly, she never saw her children again, and she never met her grandchildren. My sister found the information by researching the records. Her life would make a fascinating fictional book.
How fascinating. Metal illness is such a swept-under-the-rug thing. Challenging for family, friends, and of course, the person who is afflicted. Hopefully we will continue to learn more and do better for everyone involved. Thanks for sharing a piece of your family story.
I saw The Beautiful Mind with Russell Crowe in 2001. I don’t remember too much about the movie, but it was about a genius, John Nash, who developed schizophrenia. As I remember, he found a way to live with it, and in 1994, he won the Nobel Prize. So maybe they’re finding ways to treat it, at least to some extent. I hope so. The book I mentioned in my blog, Hidden Valley Road, was decades earlier, and the disease was a nightmare for that family. I think it still is for many families.
That is an interesting story about your family history. So believable for the times. I don’t know much about my Irish great grandfathers, one on each side of the my family. They fought in the US Civil War, for the north. But why they moved here I couldn’t say. Now I’m kind of curious.
I trust your St. Patrick’s Day was good and that you’re healing from your fall.
Nice to hear that you’re a little Irish too.
I seem to be healing nicely from my fall, but I still have a fat, blue ankle.
That’s a story! What an awful way to treat someone. She must have been very tough to survive into old age.
I think so, Judith. She seems to have been a spunky woman.
It was because of your recommendation that I read Hidden Valley Road. Thank you.
Hi Nicki,
I always enjoy your postings. A great picture of your mom and dad. Great memories.
Thanks for commenting, Stan. Mom was good about keeping photo albums, and then Sue scanned a lot of them. So thanks to both of them for that photo.
That’s very sad. And mental illness still carries such a stigma. Good for you for talking about it.
Mental illness may carry a stigma, but that’s not the only problem. When I was growing up, we had more facilities for treating mental illness. Then they decided to cut the budget. We had a large hospital on the outskirts of my town. The grounds, designed by the Olmsted Brothers, were big enough for the hospital to raise its own cattle and vegetables. Then, in 1973, the government shut it down and gave the land to the county. Now the site is a recreation area, and many people with mental illness end up in jail.
Did you learn anything about Norah’s life after she was deported? Did she return to Ireland and get treatment?
We were able to get a few bits of information. She lived with her sister in London and later moved to a nearby address near her sister. We don’t know anything about her treatment, but from the records, it looks like she lived to an old age.
I was able to visit Ireland, where my great grandfather came from. I’ve dug up his birth records from an old church, and then in America, of course, lots of other info, but I still would like to know more. We hunger to know our roots, and whenever I find even a tiny bit, I feel connected. I felt very connected while in Ireland. LOVE your photo here.
I haven’t visited Ireland yet, but I’ve started reading more modern Irish literature, trying to get familiar with their quirky form of English. I’ve read most of Tana French’s books: The Searcher, The Witch Elm, The Likeness, The Trespasser, The Secret Place, Broken Harbor, and In the Woods. Other writers I can think of: Edna O’Brien, Frank McCourt, and John Banville. Then there’s Oscar Wilde and James Joyce. Many yet to read.
I never really knew my grandparents. Two were gone when I was born and one shortly thereafter. The last one died when I was 5 or 6 so I have vague impressions of him but no real memory of interacting with him. We have some stories but it’s hard to know what was true and what are family tales. I’m sorry that they deported her rather than helped her. Must have been a hard time for everyone.
It is hard to know which family tales are true, and yet it’s good to know what some people remembered or wanted to remember.
We think of Canadians as being so “nice.” But 100 years years ago people everywhere were maybe even worse about immigrants and people with a mental illness than they are now. When my grandparents came to Vancouver, BC, they were in the middle of a building boom, so Grandpa James had lots of work, and Canada was happy to have immigrants. Then the big recession of 1920 hit, and Grandpa James had to head south to look for work. He didn’t always get money up to his wife fast enough, which made her a problem for the provincial government. Plus, it sounds like she could be rather outspoken. At least this is the way I interpret the situation.
What a sad story. And how sad that you never got a chance to meet your grandmother, Nicki. 😢
I wish we had at least have photos of Grandma Norah. But Grandpa James’ second wife burned them all when she died. We recently got access to one photo from her files, but she’s not as her best. It’s her admission photo from a mental institution. It’s not bad, but she’s wearing a bathrobe and not smiling.
Once again, a very interesting story.
I’m glad you enjoyed it, Jeri. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.