10/11/2026
AGING IN PLACE
Please enjoy this guest post by my wife, Aniko:
I recently read a beautiful story in my local paper, Leaside Life, about a family who found a way to help their aging parents stay in the home they loved. As their family grew and circumstances changed, three generations gradually came together under one roof, creating a kind of extended family village around the parents’ needs.
The author captures both the challenges and the unexpected gifts of aging in place: the practical work, the caregiving, the adjustments, and the precious moments of family life that can emerge along the way.
It got me thinking about my own mother, and about what it means to me that she “ages in place.”
My mother has always been fiercely independent, as was my grandmother. They emigrated from Hungary to England and then to Canada in 1956, during the Hungarian Revolution. My grandmother found cleaning jobs in London, Ontario, and even worked on a to***co farm to support the two of them, while my mom found factory work until she eventually saved enough money to put herself through teachers’ college at OISE in Toronto. She even took me, her infant daughter, to some of her classes when dad was busy.
She went on to teach ESL and Math for the TCDSB, became Principal of the Hungarian School, and eventually served as President of the Hungarian Canadian Cultural Centre on St. Clair. When she finally retired in her 60s, she travelled the world on adventure-driven tours, visiting exciting places like the Galápagos Islands, Mongolia, and Machu Picchu.
My mom likes to say she’s lived a good life. And she has!
It was only a few years ago, in her late 70s, that her health really began to give her trouble. Strokes, heart failure, kidney problems, and the hospitalizations that came with them gradually changed what she was able to do on her own. Last year, it became clear that her fierce independence could no longer carry her through her very real physical needs. She had to learn to trust and rely on the people who love her.
At 80, my mom moved out of her home and into ours, in the building where we live, where we once ran Millwood Melt and now run Urban Ashram Toronto.
There’s something rather wonderful about the fact that this is the same building where so much of our family history unfolded. It once belonged to my dad, uncle, and grandparents. After my parents separated, my teenage brother moved into the apartment behind my dad’s denture clinic and began his own journey toward independence.
And now my mom lives in that same apartment.
We installed a stairlift so she can come upstairs for dinners, movies, and general family time. My uncle (who still lives in the building!) drops in daily when he walks his dog, Rico, and the two of them gab for ages about everything from their health to the old days.
I visit her several times a day. We play word games, toss a balloon around, go shopping, and head to doctor’s appointments. Increasingly, I also help with things like checking blood pressure and making meals, which we sometimes prepare and eat together.
My brother calls regularly, visits to help with computer issues, hosts movie nights and family celebrations, takes us on cottage getaways, and coordinates closely with her doctors and Ontario Health at Home. When mom visits his young family, she teaches her grandkids crafts. She has a PSW and physio who visit, and she still makes and receives calls from old friends and family all over Canada and Hungary.
And then there is her rollator/walker. My mom likes to take it to our little ashram at the front of our building on Millwood Road. She walks around the space for a while, then sits down in front of the door, facing the sun with her eyes closed, letting the warmth wash over her. Passersby must wonder what this seemingly random lady is doing in the doorway of our spiritual centre.
It really does take a village to age in place. And I’m discovering that the village changes everyone who lives in it. We become more patient. We learn to accept help, and to give it. We hear stories we might otherwise have missed. We share meals, errands, movies, phone calls, and ordinary little moments that somehow become precious.
There is something beautiful about having different generations woven into one another’s daily lives. The older generation gets to remain connected to the people and places that have shaped them, while the younger generations get to experience up close their history, humour, wisdom, and the unique life perspective they’ve earned over the years.
My mom has spent a lifetime taking care of other people. Now, in this strange and sometimes difficult chapter, we get to take care of her. And perhaps that is one of the unexpected gifts of aging in place: love gets to become practical.
It looks like a stairlift delivering you to family movie night. A blood pressure cuff lovingly placed on your arm. An impromptu slow dance with your daughter to stretch those tired legs. A home-cooked bowl of gulyas that reminds you of your own mother. Friendly pop-ins from random loved ones over the course of a day. A game of UNO that always somehow makes you giggle uncontrollably.
And sometimes, it just looks like an 81-year-old woman sitting in the sunshine inside the front door of her daughter’s shop, eyes closed, face turned toward the loving warmth of the sun.
So if you happen to be passing by our storefront on Millwood and see my mom sitting in the sun, please know that you’re looking at more than just an elderly woman taking a rest. You’re looking at a life well lived. And a family learning, day by day, what it means to love someone all the way home. For that opportunity, I’m deeply thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving, from Stephen and me, and from our families to yours!
With love,
Aniko
