I penned this article to honour Mom, for Mother's Day, in Thursday's The Booster. Caregiver, mother, friend, wife, sister, aunt, supporter extraordinaire. There is no better, Mom.
"From the time she turned 18, my mother, Mary Kalaydjian, worked to support her family. Initially, to support her mother and sister, having lost her father at age 9. Then, along with my father, to support my brother and myself. Over the course of her lifetime, she worked for diverse organizations such as the United Nations, Canada Steamship Lines, and RJR-Macdonald. While raising us in the 80’s, she also went back to school to earn a ceriticate in Accounting from Ryerson Polytechnical, as well as to take numerous Human Resources courses in support of her career.
My parents, who worked and toiled hard so that my brother and I could go to university and enjoy what every immigrant hopes for their children, a better life. That took us from Montreal, to Mississauga in the late 70’s. Along the way, my father started community watch in our Mississauga neighbourhood after our home, along with 7 others, were broken into one Easter weekend. For his community work and support, he was honoured with a walkway called Garo’s Way earlier this decade, and featured in the Mississauga News, as it was the first of its kind for an individual still living.
Fast forward to 2004, when life changed drastically for my Mother and Father. Dad, who was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in the 90’s, came down with a spine infection that somehow caused dementia to kick in literally overnight. Shocked, shaken, and feeling like the rug had been wrenched from under our feet, we spent the better part of 11 weeks, rotating shifts, at Toronto Western, watching over Dad, to make sure he was safe and sound. My mother did not leave his bedside for the first 3-4 weeks, until we were able to get the hospital (thanks to the Patient’s Advocate) to designate a sitter to watch Dad during the overnight hours. We didn’t know what exactly had happened to bring on the dementia over a 24 hour cycle, but we took Mom’s lead, to make sure that we stayed on top of the specialists to get to the bottom of things. I know Mom took some breaks during those 11 weeks, but it seemed that she literally lived in that room, watching his every move, helping him with every task, loving him, supporting him and trying her best to create a safe environment for someone who had just lost all sense of things and was confused literally out of his mind. She willed and prodded him to get better.
Somehow, somewhere, even though they were very pessimistic, we survived that ordeal, only to realize that life had just taken a very serious and dramatic turn that would require an entire shift in our paradigm. Dad came home, requiring around the clock supervision, limited mobility, with a whole host of drugs, some of which had troubling side effects, and ongoing doctor’s appointments. To this day, he requires 24 hour care.
Mom, who was a careful driver lacking confidence, knew little about the on-going maintenance of a home, who had a rich and productive life, decided that she alone would be his caregiver. All 5’2” of her. Through the incideousness that is Parkinson’s disease, the darkness and muddiness of dementia, a broken hip that required 7 months in a horrendous long-term care facility, she was at his side, day and night. As any family that has a loved one that has either of these diseases will tell you, the nights are the worst, and Mom somehow took care of Dad during the day and most sleepless nights.
Our beggings and pleadings finally sunk in two years ago, when she hired a live-in caregiver to help her. That in and of itself has been an ordeal, as we have gone though over 12 caregivers, half of whom never brothered to show up for work.
Three years ago, previous back injuries finally took their toll on me, and I had to move in with my parents as I could no longer take care of myself. So Mom, who already had her hands full with Dad, now had me to care for as well. My friends and other relatives helped as much as they could, but it was Mom who carted me to one specialist after another, urging me not to give up, holding my hand, holding me up, in essence, until the answer finally came in the manner of a surgeon in Buffalo. Mom, the careful and reluctant driver, who had taken over all the driving duties for my Dad, actually drove me several times to Buffalo, even in the dead of winter.
It is because of this woman, my mother, Mary Kalaydjian, that my father continues to live, feel safe, and even thrives more than any doctor can medically explain. It is also because of my mother that I have a chance at some semblance of a life after spine surgery 16 months ago. And for all these as well as for so many other reasons, that I would like the rest of our community to learn about this incredible woman, my mother.
She has stubbornly hung onto her determination that her family be given their best chance at life. It is her fierce love, support, will, faith, dedication, selflessness, perseverance, and strength that has willed life and soul into our lives. She is our centre, our rock, our definition of Mother. At the end of the day, it is a Mother’s story and a love story. And in honour of her, and to somehow convey the depth of our love and appreciation for her, really feelings that cannot be conveyed in words, I hope that you will consider sharing the story of Mary Kalaydjian."
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