Somewhere in my early twenties my partner and I both discovered that we did not have enough ‘breadth requirement” to graduate with our B.A.’s from university. So, we headed back and took various social science courses to round out our education.

I soon discovered that I could take all my ‘soft science’ courses in Women’s Studies and I was off to the races. At the end of a happy year spent indulging in my favorite topic and doubling up my major to Women’s Studies and English Literature, I won a ‘Best Women’s Studies Student of the Year’ award.

The award came with a cash reward of thirty dollars, which I used to treat myself to a cheap perm at the hairdressers. It was the eighties!

I explored applying to the graduate program in Women’s Studies at Concordia University in Montreal and what I found was discouraging. I discovered that the application requirements included a detailed thesis proposal, supported by two of my professors. I did not have anything like that, not a thesis nor a mentor. I let the dream go without talking to anyone about it.

At this point, and at many points later in my life, I really could have used a mentor. And the spectacularly irritating thing about looking back and noting how I would have benefitted from guidance, is looking back in time and recognizing that I did, in fact, have an available mentor, hiding in plain site.

My grandmother Margaret, the woman that I was named after, would have been an exemplary mentor. After all, my grandmother had a Ph. D in Home Economics from Cornell University and here impressive career was based on the core beliefs of Home Economics, especially the education of women.

One of the main directives of Home Economics is to encourage women to continue their education so that they can broaden their career choices and strengthen their role outside of the home. Education is key. Education gives women confidence and agency, and it emancipates them from the home.

Margaret was fond of me and would have liked to hear from me, but I was blithely unaware of her fascinating career and her affection for me. Looking at my grandmother’s life now, I can see that she must have dreamed about having children and found her role as a stepmother to adult children somewhat disappointing and difficult. She would have been delighted to be asked for advice and guidance from a grand daughter.

Why did I know so little about a grandmother who would have taken great interest in supporting me in pursuing my education? She was a well-respected diplomat, teacher and, by any standard, a feminist (though I don’t know if she would have called herself a feminist). The answer is, my mother did not like her, and she influenced how I saw her.

It is a sad irony that my mother, a firebrand feminist in her own way, and my grandmother, a firebrand feminist from a different time, and from a different background, had created enough distance between each other to discourage relations between the grandma and her grandchildren.  

When I was thriving in the Women Studies department at University of Toronto, I could have written her or visited her! I could have heard about the time she worked for the YWCA in Tokyo from 1935 to 1940. I could have heard anecdotes about her work for the United Nations and her travels through Europe, South America, Asia and Arabic countries.  

The more I contemplate the unique situation, the more aghast I am. I can’t blame my mom for influencing me to see my grandmother as a censorious and manipulative Conservative feminist. My mother had her own reasons to mistrust or dislike my grandmother. But I had my own mind, and I should have decided to get to know her on my own.

But enough with regrets. Let’s fast forward through a full and busy middle life, a happy marriage filled with caring for three children and working as a freelance writer, among other jobs.  I made my choices and I have lived my life according to them, happily and with no regrets.

However, ever since I discovered that my grandmother was born in Nova Scotia, and that she graduated from Mount Allison University in 1932 with a Bachelor of Science in Home Economics, my mind has been occupied by thoughts about her, feminism and living with the consequences of your choices.

In honour of my grandmother, who is buried in Truro, I am entering the last stage of my life (a phase of life that could be a healthy enough thirty years if I am fortunate), by returning to graduate school.

I have been accepted into the Master of Fine Arts program at King’s College in Halifax and I am starting in the spring. I will be working with colleagues and mentors while I write out the story of my grandmother, my mother, and me.

I can feel the approval of ancestral spirits: my mother, her best friend, my aunt, my grandmother, my stepmother, all passed on now, are surely sharing a heavenly cup of tea or sherry, in support of my adventure. My dad is there too, always a big fan of mine, but probably in the garden pulling weeds.

The last piece of correspondence I received from my grandmother was a lovely little card that she sent when she found out that I had quit my graduate studies in English Literature. She gently reminded me not to let my life go while my husband pursued his education.

I was gently annoyed. I never heard from her and then she writes to give me ‘advice’. What did she know about my life?  Well, she knew a lot.  A wise woman is a good and necessary person in your life, and I am taking her advice now. It is late in the game, sure, but not too late.   

I see now that every woman has a picture in her mind of her ideal life. She has dreams, and she has goals, and she works towards them with tenacity. She may dream of being respected, she may dream of doing ‘good work’. She may dream of wealth, or freedom. She may dream about having a successful marriage and being a good mother. She works towards her dream life with a blind confidence in her goals, at times invisible to herself.

In pursuit of her dream life, she makes life decisions along the way and every choice she makes will have consequences, at times narrowing other opportunities in other timelines. Meanwhile, she lives in her political era, riding the specific wave of feminism that is buoying up her generation. And, no matter where she falls on the political spectrum, she is going to face obstacles that only women face.

When I told my first child about my acceptance into the program she was delighted. She said, ‘Put down your tea” so that she could give me a proper hug. Stunned by my own audacity, to attempt this challenge at this time and this age, I needed that hug.

As I told her about my idea of telling the story of three generations of feminists in my family, she added, “And then there is me’. She is the next generation of feminist, making her choices and living with the consequences. And she has always been part of my story.

It was my deeply held goal in life to have children and to rear them to be confident to pursue their dreams. I wanted to be a mother since I was a child. And to be exact, I wanted to be the kind of mother who puts her children before her own needs, lifting them up to become the best they can be. I can see that I have succeeded in this goal with my children, and I am proud of that.  

My daughter Rose, always an ambitions and hardworking dreamer, has created her ideal life for herself through sheer intelligence, determination and bravery. Today she is a successful writer living in New York City, having achieved her dream life.

She pursued her dream life, just as I did, and my mother and grandmother before her. Being a mother was one of my strongest desires, but now that all my children are adults bravely pursuing their dream lives, it is time to turn my energy to another goal, to write a book.