كاتێك دايكه تهمهن 91 ساڵهكهم، ئێليا گواستييهوه بۆ لاى من لهو بڕوايهدا بووم كه من بهمه خزمهتى دهكهم لهڕاستيدا به پێچهوانهوه بوو. دايه كێشهى لهدهستدانى يادهوهرى و قبوڵكردنى تهمهنى خۆى ههبوو. وره ڕوخاو دهردهكهوت. ههوڵم دا چهنده له توانادا بێ، ئاسودهى بكهم. وهلێ كاتێ لهسهر ستاندى تابلۆكه نيگارم دهكێشا به نيگايهك لێم ڕوانى و بينيم ئهو لهوێیە. سهرنج له هيچ شتێكى تايبهتى نادات. سهيرم دهكرد به قادرمهكاندا سهردهكهوت، ئهو دايكه نهبوو من لهگهڵى گهوره بوو بووم. لهجياتى ئهو، كهسێكى پهككهوتهى لاوازم بينى، ژنێكى پيرى بچكۆله.
When my 91-year-old mother, Elia, moved in with me, I thought I was doing her a service. In fact, it was the other way around. You see, Mom was having issues with memory loss and accepting her age. She looked defeated. I tried to make her as comfortable as possible, but when I was at my easel, painting, I would peek over and see her just ... there. She'd be staring at nothing in particular. I'd watch her slowly climb the stairs, and she wasn't the mom I grew up with. I saw, instead, a frail, tiny, old woman.
چهند ههفتهيهك تێپهڕى، پێويستم به پشوويهك له نيگاركێشانهكهم هەبوو. ويستم يارى بهو كامێرايه بكهم كه تازه كڕى بووم. دڵخۆش بووم بهوهى ههموو جۆرهكانى مهوج و دوگمه و ڕێكخستنى لهسهره كه من دهمهوێ، سێپێچكهكهم بهرامبهر ئاوێنه گهورهكهیی دهرگایی تهوالێتهكه جێگیر کرد كه تهنيا تهوالێت بوو له ماڵهكهدا.
A few weeks went by, and I needed a break from my painting. I wanted to play with the new camera I had just bought. I was excited -- it had all sorts of dials, buttons and settings I wanted to learn, so I set up my tripod facing this large mirror, blocking the doorway to the only bathroom in the house.
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
پاش كهمێك، گوێم لێ بوو. (لاسايى شێوهزارى ئيتاڵى دهكاتهوه) "پێويستم به تهوالێته"
After a while, I hear, (Imitating Italian accent) "I need to use the washroom."
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
پێنج دهقيقه، دايه، پێويستم بهوهيه ئهمه بكهم. چارهکێ تێپهڕى، ديسانهوه گوێم لێبوو، "پێويستم به تهوالێته" "پێنج دهقيقهى تر" پاشان ئهمه ڕووى دا.
"Five minutes, Mom. I need to do this." 15 minutes later, and I hear, again, "I need to use the washroom." "Five more minutes." Then this happened.
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
(چهپڵهلێدان)
(Applause)
ههروهها ئهمهش.
And this.
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
ههروهها ئهمهش.
And then, this.
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
ئهمه ساتى "ئهها"ــم بوو. پەیوەندیمان دروست کرد. شتێكى ههستپێكراومان ههبوو كه بتوانين پێكهوه بيكهين.
I had my "aha!" moment. We connected. We had something tangible we could do together.
دايكم له گوندێكى بچووكى شاخاوى لهناوهڕاستى ئيتاڵيا لهدايك بووبوو، دايك و باوكى لهوێ زهوى و مهڕ و ماڵاتيان ههبوو. له تهمهنێكى گهنجدا باوكى به هەوکردنی سييهكان مردبوو. ژن و دوو كچهكهى به تهنيا جێهێشت لهگهڵ ئهو ههموو ئهركه سهختانه. بۆيان دهركهوت كه ناتوانن بهرهنگارى ببنهوه. لهبهر ئهوه بڕيارێكى زۆر سهخت درا دايه، كه كچی گهوره بوو، له سيانزه ساڵيدا درا به پياوێكى تهواو نهناس، كه دوو ئهوهنده له خۆى گهورهتر بوو. له مناڵیەوە ناچار کرا هەنگاو بۆ گهورهبوون بنێت. دايه له تهمهنى 16 ساڵيدا يهكهمين منداڵى بوو.
My mom was born in a small mountain village in central Italy, where her parents had land and sheep. At a young age, her father died of pneumonia, leaving his wife and two daughters alone with all the heavy chores. They found that they couldn't cope. So a very hard decision was made. Mom, the oldest, at 13, was married off to a complete stranger twice her age. She went from being just a kid and was pushed into adulthood. Mom had her first child when she was only 16.
ساڵانى دواتر و ئێستاش له تۆرنتۆ دهژى، دايه له كارگهى جلوبەرگ كارى دهكرد ههر زوو بوو به بهرپرسى بهشێكى گهورهى دوورينى بەرگ. چونکە زۆربەی کرێکاران کۆچبەر بوون، دايه له كتێبهكانى وهرگێڕانهوه، خۆی فێری وشە دەکرد. پاشان به فهڕهنسى، يۆنانى، ئيسپانى، پورتوگالى و دانيماركى پراكتيزهى دهكرد. و پۆلهندى، ڕووسى، ههنگارى ههموو ئهوانهى دهوروبهرى ماڵهكهى دەزانی. من به بيرچڕى و سووربوونى لهسهر سهركهوتن له ههموو ئهو شتانهدا كه حهزى لێ بوو بيانكات سەرسام بووم.
Years later, and now living in Toronto, Mom got work in a clothing factory and soon became manager of a very large sewing department. And because it was full of immigrant workers, Mom taught herself words from translation books. She then practiced them in French, Greek, Spanish, Portuguese, Danish, Polish, Russian, Romanian, Hungarian, all around the house. I was in awe of her focus and determination to succeed at whatever she loved to do.
له دواى ساتى "ئهها"ى تهوالێتهكه به كامێرا تازهكه لەگهڵ دايه وهك مۆدێلێكى پۆرترێت مهشقى بههرهى خۆمم دهكرد. بهدريژايى ههموو ئهمانه، ئهو قسهى دهكرد و من گوێم دهگرت. باسى منداڵى زووى بۆ دهكردم و ئێستاش ههستى چۆنه. ههريهكەمان سهرنجى ئهویترمان ڕاكێشابوو. دايه يادهوهرى كورتخايهنى لهدهستدابوو وهلێ باشتر ساڵانى گهنجێتى دههاتهوه ياد. من پرسيارم دهكرد و ئهويش چيرۆكى دهگێڕايهوه. گوێم دهگرت و من گوێگرى بووم. بیرۆکە بە میشکمدا دەهات. ئەوانەم نووسی و سكێچم بۆ دروست كردن. پيشانم دا كه چى بكات له ڕێگەی نواندنى سيناريۆكانهوه لهلايهن خۆمهوه. پاشان وهك شانۆ دهمانخستهڕوو. ئهو لهبهر دهممدا وهستا و منيش زۆر شت دهربارهى وێنهگرتن فێربووم. دايه پڕۆسهى نواندنهكهى بهدڵ بوو. ههستي كرد بههای ههيه، داواكراوه و پێويستيان پێيهتى. ههروهها، بهدڵنيايى شهرمى له كامێرا نهدهكرد.
After that bathroom "aha!" moment, I practiced my newfound camera skills with Mom as portrait model. Through all of this, she talked, and I listened. She'd tell me about her early childhood and how she was feeling now. We had each other's attention. Mom was losing her short-term memory, but was better recalling her younger years. I'd ask, and she would tell me stories. I listened, and I was her audience. I got ideas. I wrote them down, and I sketched them out. I showed her what to do by acting out the scenarios myself. We would then stage them. So she posed, and I learned more about photography. Mom loved the process, the acting. She felt worthy again, she felt wanted and needed. And she certainly wasn't camera-shy.
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
(چهپڵهلێدان)
(Applause)
دايه شێتانه بهم دانهيهيان پێكهنى.
Mom laughed hysterically at this one.
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
بيرۆكهى ئهم وێنهيه له فيلمێكى كۆنى ئهڵمانيهوه هات كه من بينيبووم، دهربارهى ژێردهرياييهك كه ناوى داس بووت بوو. وهك دهبينين، ئهوهى دهستم كهوت زياتر له ئی تی دهچوو.
The idea for this image came from an old German film I'd seen, about a submarine, called "Das Boot." As you can see, what I got instead looked more like "E.T."
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
بۆيه ئهو وێنهيهم وهلاخست، وا بيرم كردهوه شكستێكى تێروتهسهل بوو، چونكه نهگهيشتبووه ئاستى ڕوئياى تايبهتى من. وهلێ دايه زۆر پێكهنى، دواجار تهنيا بۆ خۆشى بڕيارم دا، لە ئۆنلاين پهخشى بكهم. ژمارهيهكى زۆرى بڕواپێنهكراو سهرنجى بۆ خۆى ڕاكێشا.
So I put this image aside, thinking it was a total failure, because it didn't reach my particular vision. But Mom laughed so hard, I eventually, for fun, decided to post it online anyway. It got an incredible amount of attention.
ئێستاكه لهگهڵ ههر نهخۆشييهكى زههايمهر و خهڵهفاندا بڕێكى دياريكراو لهشكستى و خهمۆكى ههيه، بۆ ههر كهسێ كه تووشى بووبێت. ئهوه هاوارى بێدهنگى دايه بوو. ڕۆژێكيان وشهكانى بۆ من ئهمانه بوون، بۆچى سهرم پڕه له شت بۆ وتن، وهلێ، بهرلهوهى بگهنه سهر زارم لهبيرم دهچێتهوه کە چى بوون؟ بۆچى سهرم پڕه له شت بۆ وتن، وهلێ، بهرلهوهى بگهنه سهر زارم لهبيرم دهچنهوه؟
Now, with any Alzheimer's, dementia, there's a certain amount of frustration and sadness for everyone involved. This is Mom's silent scream. Her words to me one day were, "Why is my head so full of things to say, but before they reach my mouth, I forget what they are?" "Why is my head so full of things to say, but before they reach my mouth, I forget what they are?"
(چهپڵهلێدان)
(Applause)
ئێستاكه، وهك چاودێريكهرێكى فول تايم و نيگاركێشێكى فول تايم، منيش ههست به شكستى تايبهت به خۆمم ههيه.
Now, as full-time care partner and full-time painter, I had my frustrations too.
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
وهلێ، بۆ هاوسهنگكردنى ئهستهمييهكان، پێكهوه گهمه دهكهين. ئهوه له شوێنه خۆشهكانى دايه بوو. منيش پێويستم پێى بوو كه لهوێ بێت.
But to balance off all the difficulties, we played. That was Mom's happy place. And I needed her to be there, too.
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
ئێستاكه، دايه سهرقاڵ بوو به مهسهلهى پيربوونهوه. دهیگوت: بۆچى وا زوو به خێرايى پير بووم؟
Now, Mom was also preoccupied with aging. She would say, "How did I get so old, so fast?"
(جهماوهر ههناسه ههڵدهكێشن)
(Audience sighs)
زۆر پير. زۆر خێرا.
"So old." "So fast."
ههروهها دايهم خسته ناو مۆدێڵى تابلۆ زهيتيهكانمهوه. ئهم تابلۆيه ناوى بەرگدووری عهزيزيه. له يادمه كه منداڵ بووم، دايه بەرگی بۆ ههموو خێزانهكه دهدوورى لهسهر ئهو مهكينه گهوره قورسهى دروومان، كه له ژێرزهمينهكه جێگير كرا بوو. زۆرێك له شهوان دهچوومه خوارهوه و ئەرکەکانی قوتابخانەشم دەبرد. لهپشتييهوه لهسهر ئهو كورسيه پڕ له ناوهخنه دادهنيشتم. دهنگى نزمى ماتۆڕه گهورهكه و دهنگى دووبارهبووهى دروومان بۆ من دڵنهوايى بوون. كاتێ دايه بۆ ماڵهكهى من گواستيهوه، ئهم مهكينهيهم له ستۆديۆكهى خۆم جێكرد تا به پارێزراوى بمێنێتهوه. ئهم نيگاره منى بۆ منداڵيم گهڕاندهوه. خاڵى سهرنجڕاكێشهر ئهوه بوو ئێستا كه دايه لهپشتى منهوه دادهنيشێ، تهماشاى من دهكات وێنهی ئەو دهكێشم کاتێک لهسهر ههمان ئهو مهكينهيه دروومانى لهسهر دهكرد كاتێ پهنجا ساڵ لهمهوبهر، من لهپشتييهوه دانيشتبووم سهيرم دهكرد کاتێک درومانى دهكرد.
I also got Mom to model for my oil paintings. This painting is called "The Dressmaker." I remember, as a kid, Mom sewing clothes for the whole family on this massive, heavy sewing machine that was bolted to the floor in the basement. Many nights, I would go downstairs and bring my schoolwork with me. I would sit behind her in this overstuffed chair. The low hum of the huge motor and the repetitive stitching sounds were comforting to me. When Mom moved into my house, I saved this machine and stored it in my studio for safekeeping. This painting brought me back to my childhood. The interesting part was that it was now Mom, sitting behind me, watching me paint her working on that very same machine she sewed at when I sat behind her, watching her sew, 50 years earlier.
ههروهها كامێرايهكم دا به دايه تا واى لێ بكهم سهرقاڵ بێت و بيريش بكاتهوه. كامێرايهكى بچووكم بۆ دابين كرد داوام لێكرد بهلايهنى كهمهوه ڕۆژانە به دڵى خۆى دە وێنه بچرکێنێت. ئهمه وێنهكانى دايهن. له ژيانيدا پێشتر كامێراى بهدهستييهوه نهگرت بوو. ئهو نهوهد و سێ ساڵ بوو. پێكهوه دادەنیشتین و دهربارهى ئيشهكهمان قسهمان دەکرد. ههوڵم دهدا ڕوونى بكهمهوه
I also gave Mom a project to do, to keep her busy and thinking. I provided her with a small camera and asked her to take at least 10 pictures a day of anything she wanted. These are Mom's photographs. She's never held a camera in her life before this. She was 93. We would sit down together and talk about our work. I would try to explain
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
چۆن و بۆچى ئهوانهم كردووه، ماناكان و ههستهكان چۆن پهيوهنديان بهيهكهوه ههيه. دايه لهلاى خۆيهوه، ڕاشكاوانه دەیگوت: ئهرێ، نهخێر، باشه، يان خراپه.
how and why I did them, the meaning, the feeling, why they were relevant. Mom, on the other hand, would just bluntly say, "sì," "no," "bella" or "bruta."
(پێكهنين)
(Laughter)
تهماشاى گوزارشتى ڕووخساريم دهكرد. ههميشه دوا شتى، به وشه يان ڕووخسار دەگوت.
I watched her facial expressions. She always had the last say, with words or without.
ئهم گهشتى دۆزينهوهيه لهگهڵ دايه كۆتايى نههات. ئێستا ئهو له خانهى پيران دهژى ده دهقيقه له ماڵهكهى منهوه دووره. ههموو ڕۆژ نا ڕۆژێ سهرى لێ دهدهم. خهڵهفانهكهى گهيشتبووه خاڵێک سهلامهت نهبوو له ماڵهكهى مندا بمێنێتهوه. قادرمهى زۆر. چى ديكه ناوى منى لهبير نهما بوو. (پچڕانى دهنگ) وهلێ دهزانن؟ ئهوه ئاساييه. ئهو هێشتا ڕووخسارم دهناسێتهوه ههميشه كه دهمبينێ زهردهخهنهيهكى گهورهم بۆ دهكات.
This voyage of discovery hasn't ended with Mom. She is now in an assisted living residence, a 10-minute walk away from my home. I visit her every other day. Her dementia had gotten to the point where it was unsafe for her to be in my house. It has a lot of stairs. She doesn't know my name anymore. (Voice breaking) But you know what? That's OK. She still recognizes my face and always has a big smile when she sees me.
(چهپڵهلێدان)
(Applause)
(چهپڵهلێدان تهواوبوو)
(Applause ends)
چى ديكه وێنهی ناگرم. ئهوه ناداد پەروەرانە یە ونائيتيكى بوو لهلايهن منهوه. ههروهها چىتر لهوه تێنهدهگهيشت بۆچى وێنه دهگرين. باوكم، براكهم، (پچڕانى دهنگ) برازاكهم، هاوژينهكهم و نزيكترين هاوڕێم ههموو كتوپڕ كۆچيان كرد. فرسهتێكم نهبوو پێيان بڵێم پێزانينم ههيه بۆيان و كه چهنده خۆشمدهوێن. لهگهڵ دايه دهمهوێ لهوێ بم ماڵئاواييهكى دوور و درێژى لێ بكهم.
I don't take pictures of her anymore. That wouldn't be fair or ethical on my part. And she wouldn't understand the reasons for doing them. My father, my brother, (Voice breaking) my nephew, my partner and my best friend, all passed away suddenly. And I didn't have the chance to tell them how much I appreciated and loved them. With Mom, I need to be there and make it a very long goodbye.
(چهپڵهلێدان)
(Applause)
(چهپڵه تهواو بوو)
(Applause ends)
بۆ من، مهسهلهكه ئهوهيه كه ئاماده بم و گوێبگرم. کەسانی پشتبهستوو دهيانهوێ ههست بكهن بهشێكن له شتێک، ههر شتێک بێت. پێويست ناكات ئهو شته هاوبهشه شتێكى تايبهتى قووڵ بێت دهشێ ساده بێ، وهك پياسهكردنێکی دوو قۆڵی. دهنگێكيان پێ ببهخشه تێكهڵاوبوونێک، بهشداريكردنێک دروستكردنى ههستێ كه بهوانهوه پهيوهستى. وا بكه كاتهكه مانابهخش بێت. ژيان بريتييه له ويستى ژيانكردن نهك چاوهڕێكردنى مردن.
For me, it's about being present and really listening. Dependents want to feel a part of something, anything. It doesn't need to be something exceptionally profound that's shared -- it could be as simple as walks together. Give them a voice of interaction, participation, and a feeling of belonging. Make the time meaningful. Life, it's about wanting to live and not waiting to die.
(چهپڵهلێدان)
(Applause)
(چهپڵه تهواو بوو)
(Applause ends)
دهتوانن سڵاو و زهردهخهنهيهكم بۆ بكهن ههمووتان، تكايه؟
Can I get a wave and a smile from everyone, please?
(چهپڵهلێدان)
(Laughter)
ئهمه بۆ تۆيه دايه.
This is for you, Mom.
(چركهى كامێرا)
(Camera clicks)
(چهپڵهلێدان)
(Applause)