“Sometimes people are beautiful.
Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are.”
― Markus Zusak, I Am the Messenger

As a young woman living in the Ukraine, my mother aspired to become a teacher of the Russian language. Fleeing the Soviet Union with my father during the Second World War, and eventually immigrating to Canada, her love of reading and poetry never ceased. Her phenomenal memory would recount verses from her favourite poets, Pushkin and Lermontov, learned as a young girl of 15 and 16 years old. Fluent in four languages, Ukrainian, Russian, German and English, she would easily translate the verses for us. She knew all the great Russian classic novelists, such as Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, as well as a more recent entrant in Russian literature, Solzhenitsyn. Her knowledge of history would regale us children with stories of Czarist Russia, and the intrigue lurking behind the walls of the White Palace in St. Petersburg prior to the Russian Revolution.

Growing up on my parent’s farm, besides chores and play, food was a central theme. Saturdays were reserved for baking, and Sundays would be spent entertaining. In addition to their ever-expanding family, my parents had many friends, and much laughter could be heard echoing through the old farmhouse. An adept and witty story teller, not only did my mother tell stories, but she would act them. I once asked my father what first attracted him to my mother. After a moment of silence, he said “her laughter”. Even my father succumbed to my mother’s laughter! He was “Papashka” and she was “Mamashka”, endearments of another era. My father has passed on, but I have no doubt that he continues to watch over her, as he did during their 61 years of marriage.

In January 2009, my mother was formally diagnosed with dementia, although looking back, my siblings and I realise that the signs were evident much earlier had we only recognised them. Even though my mother’s memory has faded, and she is no longer able to follow a novel, she continues to amuse us with her wit and her fantastical stories, and every once in a while, surprise us with a verse from one of her favourite Russian poets.

My mother’s journey reminds me that life is meant to be lived, and that challenges are part of living. I am participating in the Ascent for Alzheimer’s 2014 Climb of Mount Kilimanjaro to not only challenge myself physically, but to also raise awareness of the disease, and to advocate for improved support services. My goal is to raise $90,000 for the Alzheimer’s Society of B.C., in honour of my mother’s 90th birthday in July 2014. As Team Member Kevin Root noted, “one hundred per cent of the funds raised will be used by the Society for education, support, advocacy and research in the fight against Alzheimer’s disease.” I would be honoured to have your support in achieving this goal.