100 years of sorrow and joy

Montreal Gazette , Canada
July 24, 2006

Ask ‘Nene’ about the Armenian genocide, and her awful memories unfold
in novelistic detail. But through a life of quiet, patient dignity,
she has been a guiding light to her large family Article Tools

ANNETTE AGHAZARIAN, Freelance Published: Monday, July 24, 2006

Some people touch the lives of everyone they meet without ever
realizing the effect they have. They don’t need to write a book or
govern a country to hold such great power; in their own simple way,
they can restore your faith in God and humanity.

This month, Arousiag Aghazarian turned 100 years old. You would never
know it by looking at her, but if you take the time to listen to her
stories, she will transport you to a time and place unimaginable.
Although her health is failing, her mind and heart are still strong,
and she has forgotten nothing.

Memories unfold behind her now blind eyes, like the pages in a
history book. If you ask her about her life, she will describe it
in such detail that you might think she was reading passages from
a novel. She can tell you how she witnessed the horrors of genocide
as a child and travelled like a fugitive for more than a decade in
her bare feet. She has seen entire families, churches and villages
obliterated. She has experienced the ugly brutality of war but remains
strangely optimistic, because she has always lived her life as a true
survivor and never as a victim. If you listen very closely, you will
understand the concept of faith: someone who quietly and courageously
moves forward under tragic circumstances and never once asks, "Why me?"

Imagine sitting atop a family tree spanning five generations and
knowing that somehow, by the grace of God, your life was spared for
reasons you never would have expected. You lived through a massacre,
were married off at 13, and gave birth to your first child at 15,
when you were still a child yourself. You are the mother of six,
grandmother of 13, great-grandmother of 22, and you now await the
grandchild of your own grandchild. Would you have ever dreamed that
all these children would speak a language (Armenian) you were forbidden
to learn?

"Nene" means grandmother in Turkish. And all her children, from 85 down
to to 2 years old, call her Nene. She lives with her only daughter,
who refuses to put her in a convalescent facility. She has spent a
century washing and cooking and mothering for so many, and to take
her away from her home and her family would be unthinkable.

When I suffered through eight years of infertility and had given up
hope, Nene never once lost faith. She told me she would not leave
this Earth until I produced a child. Only after my son was born did I
truly understand the beauty of her perseverance. When I looked at his
perfect little face, I felt what she always knew: to feel great joy,
you must first know great sorrow.

Nene never blames anyone for the events of her life. She knows her
fate lies with a higher power. Through the atrocities of war, she
followed a divine path that only her eyes could see. With the birth
of each child, her heart grew stronger, as did her patience. When I
asked her through what miracles she survived, the simplicity of her
words fell heavy on my chest: "It was my silence that kept me alive.
My silence and my patience – that is what God gave me."

There are no diplomas on Nene’s shelves. There isn’t a Nobel Peace
Prize for all her accomplishments, but her house is full of awards.
On every wall, table or dresser there is the photo of a child Nene
has raised. Every single one of us holds a memory deep in our hearts
of a time when she made us feel worthy of her love.

Some people escape tragic circumstances but allow their pain to
consume them. Others live their lives with a quiet dignity and
lead by example. Like Holocaust writer Elie Wiesel, Nene has often
wondered why her life was spared when so many others were destroyed.
She never questions God’s will, but as she reached 100 years on this
planet she couldn’t help but ask why she’s still here.

Perhaps we, her family, need to be reminded to be grateful for what we
have and for how far we have come. And that without Nene’s strength
and courage, none of us would be here today. She has taught us the
importance of family and the appreciation of simple things.

There are far too many of us now to be seated at one table for a
Sunday meal, but we all can remember the wonderful smells that danced
in Nene’s kitchen. Until she went blind at 90, she still prepared with
her own hands the delicacies that take all day to make – the home-baked
bread, dolma, stuffed meatballs, roasted lamb, and her famous mantee.

Nene’s hands now lie still in her lap, but they are waiting. There is
one more child on the way and she wants to be ready. She must rock
him to sleep as she rocked so many of us when our own mothers were
too tired. It is her legacy to soothe our cries.

Annette Aghazarian is a Montreal writer and granddaughter of Arousiag
Aghazarian.

algazette/news/arts/story.html?id=5f03e5e0-b5a3-4f ef-98e7-f4daeb39e3ec