When I think back on my life, I see myself running a lot. Not in Poland, not in West Germany, but the running truly began when we came to Canada in 1982.
Running from the parking lot to the GO train. From Union Station to my office at 56 The Esplanade. Then running back again. Later, I was driving the kids to activities—swimming, tennis, jazz, you name it. Always running—into the grocery store, back to the car with bags in hand.
If the bags weren’t too heavy, I’d even jog back to save time. I wonder how many thousands of kilometers I ran between 1982 and 2020.
When the kids grew older, we started a small publishing business. The running never stopped. There was never enough time to walk slowly. The only peaceful moment I had was around 2 a.m., when the work was done. I’d sit on the doorstep and smoke a cigarette. The street would be quiet—no cars, no people. Just me, the stillness, and the cigarette’s unpleasant but oddly calming presence. Anyone who’s run their own business knows this feeling.
Then came the hard chapter: placing my beloved father, who had Alzheimer’s, into a nursing home. Since he didn’t speak English, we chose Copernicus Lodge, a Polish home in Toronto on Roncesvalles Avenue. After every visit, I needed another cigarette just to steady myself. It was heartbreaking. Even though I waited until he believed he was on vacation—"in a hotel," he’d say—it was still so hard to leave him there.
Years later, my mom also had to be placed in a home. She had advanced dementia and had broken her hip. This time, she was closer, in Mississauga.
Again came the running, making her favourite breakfast, helping her dress, feeding her, taking her on short walks. We tried to make her feel she was still home, not in what I quietly called “the place of no return.” As her health declined, she needed more help than I could give, and professional caregivers stepped in.
In January 2020, we celebrated her 101st birthday. Her body was tired, and so was she. She passed away on February 9th.
That was the day I stopped running.
I didn’t have to cook breakfast anymore. I could sit down with my tea, read the newspaper, and do my sudoku—in my housecoat.
And of course, 2020 became the year everything stopped. A year of stillness, of staying inside our bubbles, avoiding contact even with our own children. The world paused, and so did we. It was a time to reflect, to look inward, and to truly appreciate the little things we once took for granted.
Do I miss running? I don’t think so. Maybe if I were younger. But now, I appreciate a bit of laziness. Sometimes I just watch Netflix, the news, or Raptors games.
These days, I practice yoga in the morning, enjoy a slow breakfast, and go to my studio when I feel like it. I sip tea, and I paint.
Being lazy in your later years isn’t such a bad thing.
These are my lovely parents. Without their tremendous help, we wouldn’t be where we are today.
I miss my parents, but this is a circle of life.
