A Tribute to My Mother Gerri Robicheau

I was blessed to have the world’s best Mom for almost 65 years.

I know that every child feels their mother was special, but anyone who knew Gerri Robicheau understood there was something remarkable about her. Her love shaped our family, her generosity touched countless friends, and her example will continue to guide us long after her passing.

I’d like to begin our healing by sharing a little of who she was and why we loved her so much.

Early Years

Geraldine Phyllis (Holliday) Robicheau was born March 15, 1942. She preferred Gerri and cringed at Deanie or Geraldine. The youngest of three daughters, she grew up in Elmsville, New Brunswick; population 57. 

As a child she was surrounded by a loving family. Her grandparents, Allyne and Willard Dyer, lived up a hill and across a brook from her own three-room family home. The brook babbled its way around the base of the hill and under a bridge before widening into a pond and gently flowing over a little waterfall in front of her house. 

Up at her Grammie and Puppa’s big farmhouse, in the light and airy kitchen, there were always cookies in the cookie jar, a fire in the wood stove, and a cot in the corner. Mom and her sisters would sleep in a big bedroom above that kitchen on cold winter nights when their own home was too chilly in their little attic room. Grammie Dyer’s kitchen always smelled like fresh, clean Sunlight bar soap. After she and Puppa gave their home to their son and moved to a smaller cabin, I remember trailing behind her as she carried a pail to fetch drinking water from a crystal clear spring a short walk in the woods. A well water pump at the kitchen sink delivered what was needed for household chores. With no indoor plumbing, everyone at that time had outhouses which were meticulously kept. In the fields surrounding these homes, wild blueberries and strawberries grew in the gravelly soil between ancient gray boulders. Her father tended a huge vegetable garden. Her Uncle Norvil kept milk cows and chickens. 

When I asked Mom if she had a happy childhood, she said, “Oh yes, it was filled with love and fun.” She remembered the sweet-natured, one-armed postal carrier, George Armstrong, with his horse and buggy. In spring, the family picked fiddleheads at a secret spot along the river. Summer meant the joy of running down the steep pitch of the family’s gravel pit into the warm brown water of the Digdeguash River, falling asleep to the serenade of frogs and crickets, and sharing picnics with family friends at Digdeguash Basin and Ovenhead Beach. Fall meant driving over the covered bridge to the annual Feast of Fowl church supper at the community hall where the turkey dinner and all-you-could-eat homemade pies were legendary. Winter meant trudging through snow to school. Traditions started then carried on. 

Mom’s grandmother, Allyne Dyer, was a wonderful cook. She taught Gerri the secret to making wonderful pies (a very light touch with the rolling pin, ice cold water, resting the dough). Allyne also taught Mom to quilt.  She came to stay with Mom when Mom’s second child arrived prematurely just nine months after her first. Our entire family went to Grammie Dyer’s house every week for Sunday dinner. The food was humble, the taste profound.

Mom inherited many old wive’s tales and superstitions from her Grammy. Things like if your hand is itchy you’ll come into money, crossed knives mean cross words are coming, and an itchy nose signalled you’d kiss a fool. I always loved those little stories.

Mom’s mother, Elizabeth Holliday (Libby), was a professional cook. She had a wicked sense of humour. Sometimes she’d answer her party line telephone with, “City morgue; you stab, we slab!” or “Bessie’s Pool Hall, Bessie speaking” just to shock the neighbour that always listened in and undoubtedly to get a laugh out of us, her grandchildren. She’d howl with laughter at her own jokes. She reminded me of the late great comedian Phyllis Diller and actually bore some resemblance to her physically. Nanny, as we called her, was fun but she also absolutely insisted on manners—please, thank you, and excuse me—from us at all times. 

Mom’s father, Gerald Holliday, was a professional gardener and hunting and fishing guide. He immigrated from England at 18 years of age, had a dry wit, and a perfect brush cut of glorious white hair. He smoked a pipe and spoke with a soft English accent. Born in Staplehurst in Kent, his family were hops growers. He understood soil and how to grow things and was my own Dad’s gardening sage.

Teenage Mom

When Mom was a teenager, she worked a summer job in housekeeping at the Algonquin Hotel in St. Andrews. There, at age 15 and with evenings free to roam, she met my handsome Dad, Reg Robicheau. Before long they married and had their first child, Susan. Mom was only 16 years old. That was not uncommon in the 1950s. By the time she was 21, Mom had four children; Susan, Keith, Karen (me), and Laurie. 

Mom definitely missed the full expression and experience of her youth. She poured herself instead into raising us and helping with the family finances however she could. My parents moved into our family home in 1962 when I was 6 months old. Though the exterior of the house was done, the interior was a shell because the builder had died halfway through the project.  They borrowed $2000 to make the purchase and worked to finish it the rest of their lives. I don’t think my Mom was ever fully satisfied with it but she filled it with the colourful art, furniture, and fabrics that she loved. It may never have been perfect in her eyes but she thoroughly enjoyed her sun room with its view to the bay. 

When we were very young, Mom had the four of us, another child she cared for, plus anywhere from four to eight room-in boarders to cook for and clean up after. She also somehow found time to sew all our clothes. She made everything from our night gowns to new coats. 

Back to school and onto three careers

I remember when I was in about Grade 4 and my younger sister Laurie was in Grade 2, Mom went back to school to get her high school diploma and study hairdressing at the local community college. To make this happen, she would get us up, feed us, make sure her two older children were organized, and then walk me and my little sister to her Aunt Muriel’s home near our elementary school. After her school day, Mom would make supper, get us to bed, and do her homework. I can remember falling asleep to the sound of her setting the table for the next morning. When we came down in the morning, there was always a halved and sectioned orange waiting for us. Mom graduated at the top of her class. I remember going to her grad and being so proud of her.

After her graduation, Dad built Mom a beauty salon with a separate entrance at the front of our home. By-the-Sea Beauty Salon was born. Mom also became a certified hairdressing instructor, mentored many young hairdressers for their year long practicum, and later in her career, she also taught a few years at the local college. Though she gradually slowed down, Mom was still doing her most loyal patron’s hair until a week before she suffered the major stroke that began her demise. 

We kids always loved having the beauty salon at the front of the house. We could whip in to do our hair before school and use her professional equipment. Or after school, we could curl up in a chair and read the magazines Mom subscribed to for her customers to read while they were under the hair dryer. This was the heyday of hair styles that were set in curlers. Mom had year round regulars and then every summer she added clientele who came to town from Montreal and Toronto for “the season.” She kept a sign above the mirrors in the beauty shop that said, “It’s nice to be important but it’s more important to be nice.” That set the tone for her corporate culture and what she expected of her children as well. Along with being a hairstylist, Mom had two other careers.

She was also a board certified real estate agent for a number of years and really enjoyed adding that to her repertoire of skills. For the last 5 years of Mom’s life she turned her main beauty salon into an AirBnB and was rated a “superhost” with many happy return guests. She loved her AirBnB business and looked forward to meeting everyone.

Because Mom’s workplace was in our home she was always around for us. I remember the warmth of her fuzzy yellow housecoat as she gave us a goodbye hug when we left for school in the morning. I remember soup and sandwiches for lunch and having our names on a calendar for supper prep and dish duty. Our parents gave us real responsibilities and consequently we became responsible, independent people. We were expected to go to university so that we could have chances that they never got themselves. They always wanted better for us. Though circumstances limited some of the opportunities they might have enjoyed themselves, Mom and Dad poured their energy into creating opportunities for us. Saving for us to go to college was a top priority for both of them.

Passions and Pursuits

Beyond her worklife, Mom had many talents.  No matter the craft, she picked it up with ease. I’ve mentioned her sewing abilities but to give you an idea how good she was, she made a very complicated Vogue pattern for my sister Sue’s grad dress plus Sue’s wedding dress, all the bridesmaid’s dresses, and her own mother-of-the-bride dress too.

Mom made over 30 quilts in her lifetime and each child and grandchild got one. She had all but the finishing touches done on small quilts for her great grandchildren just before she passed. Mom was a champion duck carver with many blue ribbon birds to her credit from the New Brunswick Woodcarving Association. She also loved knitting, cross-stitch, embroidery, toll painting, caning chairs, upholstering furniture, and making stained glass. A piece of her stained glass art—a white dove carrying an olive branch—was commissioned by the St. David Anglican Church in Oak Bay. It’s in a circular window above the main entrance. She was always very proud of that when we drove by it on the old road to St. Stephen. Mom loved Martha Stewart but we always said Martha had nothing on Mom!

Mom was also quite athletic. In her early 30s, she took up golf and became a passionate player. She was the first woman president of the Algonquin Golf Course in St. Andrews and was on the board for about 50 years. She golfed over 100 rounds every year and loved to volunteer at tournaments and participate in the ladies league. She treasured having the first tee time and loved golfing with her children, her late cousin Gordon Gowan, and with John Clark, the late Hugh Graham, and Rand Forgey. Her dear friend Barb Vottero was another great golf buddy. Mom also dallied with sea kayaking, racquet ball, and tennis. In her 40s, she even tried downhill skiing when visiting me in the Canadian Rockies. 

Somehow Mom also found time to volunteer. She sat on the local girl guide counsel and volunteered for the Catholic Women’s League. She was famous for baking 20 or more of her Sourdough Chocolate Cakes for the annual church sale fundraiser. If anyone she knew was sick or if there was a death in the community, there’d be a casserole or muffins on their doorstep in a heartbeat. 

Stylish Travelling Gerri

Mom’s first trip abroad was a trip to Spain and Scotland with Dad in 1977. Dad never cared to go abroad again. He hated flying and was a true homebody. But Mom was itching to explore the world. She travelled to England to see where her father had come from with her sister Bette and brother-in-law Eric. She was appointed driver for that trip and took up the challenge of driving on the left side of the road with fierce determination. Mom also travelled to India twice, and Paris and Italy once with me. She cruised the Rhine with her sister Bette and friends Sharon and Faye and took a Mediterranean cruise with Laurie, Zig, and Julija. 

Whatever Gerri did—work, golf, or travel—she did it in style. It was not unusual for Mom to change her outfit and/or shoes four or five times in a day. She had four closets full of clothes and she loved them all. If she found something she liked—shoes, pants, tops—she bought it in every colour. Whether it was a chicly tied scarf, a broach pinned to her lapel, a matching visor, shoes and golf outfit, or her hard-earned mink coat, she would never leave the house without looking well-groomed and put-together. She loved to shop (until she didn’t). We joked she was a princess but, family is what she loved most of all. 

Grandma GiGi

When my brother Keith had his first child in 1978, my mother became a grandmother at age 36. She had 11 grandchildren and five great grandchildren. My son Cole coined the name, GiGi, short for Grandma Gerri, and it stuck.

In the grandchildren’s early years of life we siblings all descended upon Mom and Dad in their home in St. Andrews and their cottage at Digdeguash Lake every summer. Though the cottage was always a joyous place for the rest of us, Gerri had grown tired of it for all the extra work it brought to her life. Still, she made the effort for the grandchildren and we have many fond memories of card games, swimming, tubing, water skiing, campfires, fireworks, barbecues, and lobster boils with immediate and extended family. Pets were another love of Mom’s.

Billy the Cat

We always had cats or dogs in our home. After my Dad died, his cat, KitKat, was Mom’s companion and solace. When KitKat died it seemed to trigger Mom to allow years of grief to erupt. She could not stop crying for a week. My sister Laurie found a cat up for adoption at a nearby veterinarian’s office and little kitten Billy came home to be Mom’s last cat.

Billy became an important companion and Mom organized her day around him. She got up between 5 and 5:30 A.M. to let him out and couldn’t relax in the evening until he was in. His presence and sweet personality were a great source of comfort. Anyone who knew Mom and Billy could never doubt the therapeutic importance pets can bring to a life.

Longtime friendships

The last challenge we must all face—if we are privileged to grow old—is dealing with loss. Mom faced the loss of her husband, parents, eldest sister, and many good friends but was also fortunate to still have her middle sister, Dolly, and many dear old friends like Faye, Sharon, Carol, Lois, Bertha, Bonnie, Rebecca, Vil, Lucinda, and Brenda. Mom continued making friends her whole life and some were a constant source of strength, comfort, and delight in her life like Nola, Peter, Tara, Liz, and Dianna. Having lived in St. Andrews for 68 years, she had a lot of great stories and local knowledge to share. She was very loving and “adopted” several younger friends like Michelle, Ann, and Randy as chosen children.

Mom had some strong opinions. She did not mince words and had lost the ability to tolerate baloney. As a woman who had grown up in the 40s and 50s, she was tethered by societal expectations of women from a bygone era. While my Dad was alive, she never fully achieved the emancipation promised by the women’s movement. Occasionally, she was bitter about lost chances. But, if you knew Gerri, you knew that no matter what, in the end, she would get over herself, put others first, and always give her very best at whatever she was involved in. 

Going out in style

We’ll always remember Mom for her petite stature, incredible baby blue eyes, aquiline nose, and cute blonde bob. We’ll remember her styling whatever outfit she’d pulled together. We’ll remember the example she set: that our lives matter most in how we care for others.

Gerri understood that lesson instinctively. Whether she was raising children, comforting a friend, mentoring a young hairdresser, baking for a church fundraiser, or simply making sure everyone around her felt welcome, she gave her best.

Her life was not defined by what she accumulated, but by what she gave away.

We were extraordinarily lucky to call Gerri Robicheau our Mom, Grandma GiGi, sister, aunt, friend, and neighbour. We will miss her deeply. We will love her always. She was made from love. She has returned to the source of love that sustains all.

Service Details

A funeral service will be held on Thursday, July 2, 2026 at 2 P.M. at the Catholic Church of St. Andrew at 212 Parr Street in St. Andrews, N.B. with reception to follow at the church. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Saint John Regional Hospital Foundation in Gerri’s memory.