In time, climbing three floors of stairs took a toll, and by 1982, she was housebound, no longer stepping out for anything. Groceries were ordered by phone and delivered to her. I was responsible for depositing her pension cheque once a month. Legally, I was her executor. I visited as often as I could, bringing her grandkids to see her. My twin sister travelled from Maryland once a year, as that was what she could do. A couple of years later, Mom was becoming increasingly confused and immobile. Mom was small and overweight and had health issues aside from mobility. I lived with my husband and three kids in a three-bedroom small house, working full time. My husband wasn’t interested in bringing my mom to our home. It was almost impossible to consider. Circumstances were difficult, and mom needed specialized care for her severe foot infection to start with. It turned into gangrene after cutting herself, walking barefoot, and telling no one. Mom was admitted to the hospital through the emergency department for her foot infection and stayed. The hospital was far from home in Cote St Luc (Montreal). She remained there for several months while she was recovering. I was working full time and took my lunch hour driving to the hospital to check on mom. By 1984, social services and I understood that mom could no longer return to her apartment. I arranged a transfer to the Maimonides Jewish Senior Hospital long-term facility, which was much closer to my home. Mom was pretty much incoherent by then. She was diagnosed with dementia and needed 24/7 care.

Immobile and in a wheelchair. I felt deep guilt in seeing my mom deteriorate so quickly. No one came to my aid. I had a husband, three kids, a job and my mom on my exhausted shoulders. The care she received was minimal, so I hired a lady who spent time with her three days per week, which was very helpful. I visited almost every day, and it was heart-wrenching. Each time I left the front door of the hospital, I took a deep breath, not realizing I was hardly breathing while inside.

On April 19, 1992, my mom passed. Two days earlier, I was asked by her doctor to call my sister and have her fly over as mom didn’t have much time. Her major organs were failing. My sister arrived a day before, and in a moment of clarity, Mom saw us both by her bedside. Her final words were, “My two beautiful girls.” My sister and I witnessed her last breaths. That was a very emotional moment as we’d never seen death before, yet it was a relief that she was at peace. So were we. Looking back, I wished I could have looked after her at home but realized it was impossible. My situation wasn’t ideal in any way. Still today, I feel guilt and sadness when I reflect on those tough years. I loved my mom dearly, and I feel her presence often. I believe she’s spiritually around, watching over her two beautiful girls.

Montreal 1965

My Two Beautiful Girls - Mary's Story

Mom was slowly getting worse with walking pain and general inactivity. I was the sole caregiver.

Mom lived in an apartment with my sister and me for years, and because she rented it at a younger age, she chose one on the third floor. In 1969, my sister and I got married. I remained in Montreal near Mom, but my twin sister married an American and moved to the USA.

Montreal 1990

Mary Navick, Cairo Egypt 1950