Wonderful life, a secret revealed at the end
Anita Isaac was an amazing woman — nurse, leader, pillar of the community — and, as it turns out, mother
If you knew Anita Isaac at all, which I did, you adored and admired her. How could you not?
Nurse, leader, teacher, community pillar. Giver. She grew the most beautiful dahlias, baked for everyone, did Japanese embroidery, advocated, visited, organized, brought laughter and smiles in her calm, humble, utterly approachable yet confident way. Having no children of her own to bring up (she married, but only in 2013, age 75, for the first time, to Winston), she was, it seemed, mother to everyone.
Have you ever seen the show “Call The Midwife”? Anita did that, in the 1960s, in England, where she’d moved from her birthplace of St. Kitts — she rode around on bicycle delivering babies at people’s homes.
If you were a close friend or part of her family, which I’m not, you were let in on a breathtaking secret earlier this year, taken into a confidence all the more startling for Anita being a woman of such few surprises, so consummately reliable, steady and sure was she, and all the more poignant in hindsight for this year being, as no one suspected it would be, her last. She was always so fit
She got a phone call at her home in Ancaster in March. “Are you Anita Isaac?”
Short days later she received a visit from a tall, handsome, 54-year-old man from Peel region. Ryan Boyington. He has her smile.
After Anita’s time in England, she came to Canada, in 1966, to begin nursing here as there was such a demand. It was only after she arrived that she learned she was with child, the result of an unplanned pregnancy. With no family, $80 to her name and living arrangements that did not allow for children, she, guided by faith, had no choice but adoption.
She had the baby in Grimsby and had to give him up the day he was born. Not even her family knew that she was pregnant. For 54 years, she never spoke a word of it.
Ryan, her son, showed up at her door with flowers: “She told me, she had been waiting for me to knock on her door one day.”
It was March 14 and they spent eight hours together. Anita made dinner, and they talked, shared stories and photos. Anita learned what a fine man Ryan is and he what an amazing woman his mother was.
A great presence for years at Chedoke hospital and assistant director of nursing for Hamilton Health Sciences, a leading member of the Zonta club in Hamilton, a John C. Holland Award winner. And so much more. They marvelled how close they were geographically all this time, him in Peel.
“By the time we were halfway through dinner I was calling her mom,” says Ryan, a graphic/web designer.
If they were all stunned, joyously, by these seismic jolts to their sense of the ordinary, more was to come. After their wonderful reunion dinner, Anita and Ryan planned more, but social isolation set in.
They talked virtually every day on the phone, catching up on decades of life ... and infinities of feeling. Anita shared her news with friends and family (she was one of 11 siblings), who had to reset their picture of this incredible woman, to add even more love and admiration for her remarkable revelation.
And then, as Ryan was planning to introduce Anita to her grandchildren (Ryan has a daughter and son) on FaceTime, Anita suffered a massive stroke, on April 4. She never recovered, and died on April 15, age 81, but not before Ryan was accorded permission (he was the only one, aside from husband Winston) to sit at her bedside at Hamilton General, and so he spent the last three days of her life talking to her, reading messages of love from the WhatsApp chat he created for her, thanking her for the loving new family he’d been accepted into and for the letter she wrote to him, which he received one day after she was stricken.
The letter, which appears with this article and describes her experience of holding him for five minutes after his birth, is on the marvellous website, with words from Anita’s brother
Percy Isaac, that Ryan created in her memory — anitaisaac.ca — to which people are invited to contribute.
Many already have. It’s part of a chorus of praise, for Anita inspired that. She would just be there somehow when needed, Evelyn Myrie tells me. She knew Anita from their leadership in the historic Stewart Memorial Church. When Evelyn’s late husband Vince Morgan was in hospice Anita darted out as they tried to make his bedding comfortable and “she came back with these beautiful floral sheets.”
Sandra Cronk, one of Anita’s best friends, a travel mate and fellow Zonta member, says: “She had a wonderful life and so deserving to be ‘sainted.’ Anita is truly a lost treasure to our community.”
Ryan, who had a very happy upbringing with his adoptive family, tried years ago to find his birth mother but didn’t get far. With new resources like the ancestry websites and help from others, for whom he’s grateful, finally succeeded.
Ryan, also deeply grateful to the hospital staff, says, “I thank God for the miracle of our reunion.”
Jeff Mahoney is a Hamilton-based reporter and columnist covering culture and lifestyle stories, commentary and humour for The Spectator. Reach him via email: jmahoney@thespec.com
Anita’s letter to her son Dear Ryan:
March 31, 2020
These past few weeks have been the happiest days of my life. Your diligence in searchíng for me demonstrated not just a need to know your birth mother but to love her sight unseen. You did not know who or what you would find at the end of your search, but you had faith that one day you would find me and I was always expecting you. As soon as I received the first photograph, I knew you were my son.
I had an easy pregnancy but was stressed most of the tíme because of the decision I knew had to be made. Given my circumstances, it was the right decísíon, but it did not take away the guilt and shame that dogged me for years. I am grateful to your adopted parents for loving you and making you the man you are today — gentle, compassionate, forgiving and family orientated. These are innate qualities that you inherited from me because that ís also who I am.
I carried you for nine months, and duríng my alone tíme, I would talk to you in utero (in the womb) about why I could not keep you. The day I signed the adoptíon papers was the saddest day of my life because I was sending you off into an unknown world. Following the delivery, I remember asking the doctor if the baby was a boy or girl, and the nurse placed you on my chest for what seemed like five minutes and then you were gone. I told the nurse your name was John. You have always been in my mind, my heart and my soul, but I buried the memories deep within me and never spoke about the experience.
March 14 was not only a glorious day with you it was also the first time I felt like a real mother and in addition I was freed from the chains of guilt and shame that has weighed me down for a number of years. My faith and upbringing kept me strong and the experience motívated me to be all that I can.
I know that I cannot go back and recapture the years I have missed, but I hope we can build a future in the time I have left on this earth. The virus is keepíng us apart, but your first priority is the care and attention for your mom, dad and children. Although it has only been 26 days since we first spoke, I feel as though I have known you all my life. Thank you, Ryan, for the light you brought into my life.
Love always, Mom.