“This Is Your Mom”: The Story Behind the Cover of Connected: Finding My Truth
An Envelope I Never Expected
In October 1997, an envelope arrived from someone I did not know.
Inside was a copy of an old photograph. Written on the back were four words:
This is your mom.
The smiling young woman in the polka dot bikini was my biological mother.
I had spent years searching for pieces of her life, and suddenly, there she was.
Before She Was Donna
Before she was Donna, her name was Camilla Marilyn. Her siblings never cared for the name, so they began calling her Donna. The name stayed.
Depending on the record, her surname appeared as Kole, Cole, Koloski, Kolosky, Kulchlsky or Kulchisky.
Finding my mother often meant following one name after another and hoping each one would bring me a little closer to the truth.
Donna Koloski, also known as Donna Kole, at English Bay in Vancouver on August 9, 1953. Photograph by Ed Cosgrove.
The Photograph Vancouver Almost Never Saw
On August 9, 1953, Donna was sixteen and working as a fashion model in Vancouver, British Columbia.
That morning, she took a leap of faith and stepped onto Sunset Beach along English Bay wearing an itsy bitsy polka dot bikini from Paris.
In 1953, that was enough to cause quite a stir.
People began gathering outside the bathhouse, where Donna met photojournalist Ed Cosgrove. He photographed her alongside Lily Grouix, who was wearing a one piece bathing suit.
Ed hurried back to The Province, believing he had captured what may have been Vancouver’s first news photographs of a bikini.
The editors refused to print them. The bikini was considered too revealing for the time.
Donna had told them she was eighteen so she could be photographed. In truth, she was only sixteen, just two months away from her seventeenth birthday.
The story never ran, and the photographs were eventually placed in the Vancouver Archives.
Then, forty four years later, one of them found its way to me.
Lily Grouix, left, and Donna Koloski, also known as Donna Kole, outside the bathhouse at English Bay in Vancouver on August 9, 1953. Photograph by Ed Cosgrove.
One Mystery Remains
After years of searching, I finally confirmed that the bikini came from Paris.
There is still one question I would love to answer:
Where did my mother buy it in Vancouver?
Was it sold by a local boutique or department store that imported fashions from Paris? Does anyone recognize the designer, the style or the distinctive polka dot fabric?
I was also told that photographs of my mother and the bikini were once included in a traveling exhibition shown in Montreal, Ottawa, Edmonton and Vancouver. I have never been able to locate any information about that exhibition.
If you know about vintage swimwear, Paris fashion or Vancouver history, I would be grateful to hear from you. Perhaps you recognize the bikini, remember the exhibition or know which Vancouver stores carried fashions from Paris in 1953.
Please share this story with anyone who may hold another piece of the puzzle.
A Piece of My Mother That Came Home
This photograph now appears on the front cover of my book, Connected: Finding My Truth.
To others, it may be a fascinating moment from Vancouver’s past. To me, it is a piece of my mother that somehow found its way home.
The photograph is black and white, but I know one detail the camera could not preserve.
The polka dots were pink.
Pink was my mother’s favorite color.
Finding Lily
My search eventually led me to Lily, the woman standing beside my mother in the photograph.
Finding Lily gave me something no archive ever could. She was a living connection to my mother and to that remarkable day.
Lily and I began corresponding in 2009, and we spoke on the telephone almost every month. In August 2015, I finally had the pleasure of meeting her at her home in Langley.
She had filled her office with memories of the day she met my mother.
Lily and Donna met only once, on August 9, 1953, but Lily never forgot her.
Lily passed away on March 10, 2020. I miss her and will always be grateful for the stories and memories she shared with me. I am also thankful that I remain connected with her daughter, Lindsay.
Over the years, several stories about my mother were published with incorrect names, dates and details. I sincerely thank journalists Ethan Baron and Gordon Clark for helping me separate fact from rumor and discover more about who my mother truly was.
The front cover of Connected: Finding My Truth, featuring Donna and Lily at English Bay in Vancouver on August 9, 1953. Cover photo courtesy of The Province/ Postmedia
Roots Revealed: A Black Market Baby’s Journey Home
Two years ago, I wrote this poem as I began to confront something that upended everything I thought I knew about myself. I wasn’t adopted in any legal or traditional way. I was a black market baby, sold into silence.
This poem helped me make sense of something that felt impossible to hold. If you’ve ever questioned your identity, searched for your origins, or carried secrets you didn’t choose, please know you’re not alone.
In the quiet heart of time's embrace,
A story hidden, a forbidden place,
A late discovery, a secret quest,
To find the roots where love might rest.
In whispers carried by the wind,
The echoes of a past begin,
A life unveiled, a truth laid bare,
The shadows lift, there's something there.
A name unknown, a face unseen,
In dreams, a distant memory's gleam,
The hands that held, the voice that cried,
A journey back to what was denied.
Through years of wonder, nights of ache,
A piece of self the silence takes,
The map of life, the lines erased,
A history sold, but not replaced.
The heart, it beats with sharpened rhythm,
The soul breaks free from stolen prison,
With stories whispered, secrets screamed,
And courage rising from the seams.
In eyes that mirror ancient ties,
In truths that shatter practiced lies,
A family found, though torn apart,
The thread still runs through every heart.
For in this tale, once sealed away,
Is truth the system can't betray,
That love, though lost or underground,
Still pushes up through hallowed ground.
The journey ends where it began,
In stolen time, in broken span,
A black market baby, now made whole,
A story reclaimed, a blazing soul.
If you've walked a similar path, or if you're still searching for your own roots, I see you. Feel free to share your story or your thoughts. Healing begins when silence ends.
A Small Box, a Long Silence
A Featured Story by Diana Kayla Hochberg
My dad has been gone a long time now. I lost him when I was just 24 years old, far too early to understand how much I would still need him, and far too soon to ask the questions I did not yet know to ask. He left behind love, discipline, humor, wisdom, and more unanswered questions than I ever expected to carry into adulthood.
He never lived to see the woman I became. He was not here when I began searching for the truth about my beginnings, and he was not here when I wrote Connected: Finding My Truth. Still, through every chapter of my journey, I felt him beside me. Steady. Proud. Guiding me with the strength he carried throughout his life.
He was the best father anyone could ask for. He showed up. He listened. He loved without condition. Anyone who has read Connected understands why his absence still lives so deeply in my heart, and why he remains such an important part of my story.
Not long ago, I discovered a small box tucked away in a forgotten corner. It was not just any box. It was a Garcia y Vega cigar box, the kind he always smoked. The moment I saw it, he felt close again. I could picture him with a cigar in hand, warm smile, calm presence, and quiet strength.
Inside that familiar box were my father’s World War II medals, handwritten notes, official documents, and a weathered Jewish Army Bible. That simple cigar box opened the door to a part of his life he rarely spoke about, and to a courage I never fully understood.
According to his military records, he served with the 100th Field Artillery. When he spoke about the war, he mentioned only that he helped with medical care. He never shared the full truth of what that meant. He assisted surgeons. He witnessed loss. He helped save lives. He carried memories that only war can carve into a person’s soul.
Inside his Bible, he wrote words that still give me chills:
“Presented to PFC Manuel Hochberg, June 20, 1944.
I am aboard the SS Argentina, en route to the European Theater of Operations, traveling from New York to Liverpool, England.”
There was also a German Mark labeled “Captured Nazi 1945.”
There were medals. There was bravery.
There was silence.
He returned home on the RMS Queen Mary in 1945 and was honorably discharged as Sergeant Manuel Hochberg.
The Box That Waited for Me
To the world, he was a soldier, a businessman, and a provider.
To me, he was my father.
He was warm, funny, and intelligent.
He loved sports, travel, theater, history, museums, the arts, and a good cigar.
He was a fisherman, a joker, a storyteller, and a teacher.
He taught me to ride a bike, to laugh, to stand tall, to be independent, and to live with heart. He was also a man of mystery. He carried things quietly, carefully, and respectfully, the way so many men of his generation did.
If I filled a million pages, I would still fall short of describing how deeply I love and miss him. Every single day, no matter what anyone says, he raised me. He shaped me. He will always be my dad.
To Me, He Was Simply Manny
Writing Connected: Finding My Truth became the conversation I wish I could have had with him. It became my search for truth, for understanding, and for the missing pieces of identity, legacy, and belonging. I often wonder what he would have said if he were here. I wonder what stories he may have finally shared. I wonder how he may have helped me carry the truths I uncovered.
Even though he was not physically here, I still felt him. Always.
He was complex. He was extraordinary. His influence remains powerful, and his absence is still deeply felt.
I wish he had been here long enough to meet his grandchildren, David, Erin, and Aimee, and his great-granddaughter, Harper. He would have loved them with his whole heart.
What I Carry Forward
Happy Birthday, Dad.
I know you are still watching over me.
I still look for your guidance. I still listen for your strength.
And I will always carry you with me.
With love, always,
Diana