They were supposed to keep her safe. I hold them totally responsible.
In the spring of 2020, a COVID-19 outbreak swept through Owen Hill Care Community in Barrie, Ontario, claiming eleven lives — among them Joan Kantor, a 75-year-old woman of warmth, stubbornness, and English wit, who had been entrusted to the home's care only months before. Her daughter, Lisa Politakis, now carries the grief of a loss she could not mourn in the ordinary human ways, and with it a determination that her mother's death not dissolve into the anonymity of a statistic. In pursuing legal accountability, she asks the questions that pandemics tend to bury: not only how this happened, but what we owe to those who are most vulnerable when institutions fail them.
- An outbreak at a 57-bed long-term care home infected 27 residents and 21 staff, killing 11 people — and a family learned of their mother's death as a number before they ever heard it as a name.
- Lisa Politakis watched her mother deteriorate through phone calls and brief, suited hospital visits, unable to hold her hand freely or gather her siblings under the same roof to grieve.
- Questions about how the virus entered the facility, whether PPE protocols were followed, and why a severe wound went unmanaged without family oversight remain unanswered to the family's satisfaction.
- Sienna Senior Living says it was compliant with all requirements before the outbreak and has since hired medical consultants — but Politakis has hired a lawyer, and she is not satisfied with compliance as an answer.
- She is pursuing civil litigation not for money but for accountability, determined to force systemic change in Ontario's long-term care sector before another family is handed belongings in a parking lot and told to grieve alone.
Lisa Politakis carries questions her mother's death left behind. Joan Kantor — 75, English-born, stubborn, beloved, a lover of crossword scratch tickets she always discarded too soon — moved into Owen Hill Care Community in Barrie in early 2020, after her children could no longer safely manage her worsening dementia and diabetes at home. The decision had not come easily. They had visited daily, hired caregivers, managed her medications. But on a doctor's recommendation, they placed her in the home, trusting it would keep her safe.
On April 24, the Simcoe Muskoka District Health Unit declared an outbreak at Owen Hill after a staff member tested positive. Three days later, Kantor's doctor called — she had tested positive too, though she showed no symptoms and was stunned to learn she carried the virus. She was moved to isolation. Then the fever came. It broke, briefly, before she was placed on oxygen. Politakis arranged for her transfer to Royal Victoria Regional Health Centre, where doctors told her, hours after admission, that nothing more could be done. For the first time since lockdown began, the family was allowed inside — suited in protective equipment, permitted only brief visits. Kantor rallied, as if answering her daughter's plea. The improvement lasted less than a week. On May 16, she died. The family, spread across three households, could not hold one another. There was no funeral.
When Politakis collected her mother's belongings, staff brought them to the parking lot in plastic bags — the home still in outbreak, visitors still forbidden. Inside, she found old scratch tickets from their last visit before COVID. Her mother had forgotten to throw them away.
The questions Politakis now carries are ones Owen Hill and its parent company, Sienna Senior Living, have not answered to her satisfaction: how the virus entered, how it spread so fast, whether protocols were properly followed. She also learned that her mother had developed a severe rash from incontinence products — so serious that staff had to photograph it and consult a specialist remotely. Kantor was on pain medication for the wound until she died. Her family had always ensured her hygiene during visits. They had not been allowed inside since March.
Sienna says it was in compliance with all requirements before the outbreak and has since hired medical consultants and developed contingency plans. Politakis has hired a lawyer. She is pursuing civil litigation — not for compensation, but to force accountability and prevent another family from enduring what hers has. She wants to know how this happened. She wants her mother remembered as a person. She does not want to see another resident reduced to a number in a news report.
Lisa Politakis sits with questions that have no answers. Her mother, Joan Kantor, died on May 16 at Royal Victoria Regional Health Centre in Barrie—a 75-year-old woman who contracted COVID-19 while living at Owen Hill Care Community, a 57-bed long-term care home where she paid $1,517 monthly for a shared room and care she believed would keep her safe. Kantor was the eleventh resident from Owen Hill to die during an outbreak that would ultimately infect 27 residents and 21 staff members. But when the news came, it came as a statistic, not a name. Her daughter is determined to change that.
Kantor was born in Derby, England, where she acquired the accent her family remembered as marvellous. She moved to Canada, married, raised three children, and worked as a waitress after her divorce. She loved crossword scratch tickets, though she had a habit of discarding them before her children could check for prizes. She was stubborn, well-loved, and even in her final hours, more concerned with protecting her family from infection than with her own suffering. The decision to place her in Owen Hill had not come easily. Her children—two daughters and a son—had visited her daily while she lived at home, hired caregivers, and managed her medications as her dementia worsened and her diabetes threatened to slip out of control. But it wasn't enough. On a doctor's recommendation, they moved her into the home in early 2020.
On April 24, the Simcoe Muskoka District Health Unit declared an outbreak at Owen Hill after a staff member tested positive. Politakis was told the affected employee had no direct contact with residents. Three days later, on April 27, Kantor's doctor called. Politakis knew before he spoke what the call meant. Her mother tested positive but showed no symptoms, shocked to learn she carried the virus at all. She was moved to isolation, where phone calls became impossible. Then the fever came. The doctor called with updates, honest about how little was known about this disease, trying to offer hope. Kantor's fever broke—a moment that felt like reprieve until she was placed on oxygen the next day. Politakis prayed her mother would not die on Mother's Day. She arranged for Kantor's admission to the hospital.
Hours after arriving at RVH, a doctor told Politakis there was nothing more they could do. For the first time since lockdown began, the family was allowed to visit, suited in hospital-provided protective equipment and permitted only brief stays. Kantor rallied, as if summoned by her daughter's plea to keep fighting. The improvement lasted less than a week. On May 16 at 10:30 a.m., she died. The family had not been able to hug one another throughout the ordeal—three separate households, unable to grieve together. There would be no funeral.
When Politakis went to Owen Hill to collect her mother's belongings, staff brought them to the parking lot in plastic bags, handed off at a distance because the home remained in outbreak and visitors were still forbidden. Inside those bags, she found old scratch tickets from their last visit before COVID—the ones her mother had forgotten to discard, saved without knowing it.
Now Politakis has questions that Owen Hill and its parent company, Sienna Senior Living, have not answered to her satisfaction. How did the virus enter the facility? How did it spread so rapidly? Was it ventilation? Were staff following proper protocols for personal protective equipment? She learned from the doctor that her mother had developed a severe rash, likely from incontinence products, so severe that staff had to send photos to a specialist for treatment advice. Kantor was on pain medication for the wound until her death. Politakis and her sister had checked on her mother's hygiene regularly during visits, ensuring fresh supplies and weekly showers, but they had not been allowed inside since early March.
Sienna responded to inquiries by stating the company was in compliance with all ministry and public health requirements before the outbreak began, that they mobilized quickly once cases appeared, and that Owen Hill has remained outbreak-free since June 19. The company has since hired two medical consultants and developed contingency plans. But Politakis has hired a lawyer. She intends to pursue civil litigation against Owen Hill, not for compensation but to force accountability and prevent another family from enduring what hers has endured. She wants answers about how this happened and how it can be prevented. She wants her mother remembered as a person, not absorbed into the count of the dead. Most of all, she does not want to see another outbreak, another family unable to grieve together, another resident reduced to a number in a news report.
Citas Notables
I want them to figure out what happened. They need to figure out how it got into all these homes. Then how did it spread? Was it the ventilation? Were they doing proper PPE?— Lisa Politakis, daughter of Joan Kantor
We put her there to keep her safe. They were supposed to take care of her. I hold them totally responsible, because they were supposed to prevent the virus from getting in there.— Lisa Politakis
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
What made you decide to pursue legal action rather than simply grieve privately?
Because grief alone doesn't stop the next outbreak. If I don't push for answers, if I don't make them explain what happened, then another family will be where I am. My mother was a person—she had a laugh, a particular way of being. She wasn't just the eleventh death at Owen Hill.
You mention the rash, the wound care. Do you think that contributed to her death from COVID?
I don't know. That's the problem. No one has explained to me what happened, what went wrong, what could have been done differently. The rash was severe enough that they needed specialist advice. She was on pain medication for it. How does that factor into her ability to fight off the virus? I don't have those answers.
The home says they were in compliance with all requirements. What would compliance have looked like to you?
Compliance would have meant the virus never got in. Or if it did, it would have been contained before it spread to 27 residents. Hospitals managed to contain COVID patients. Why couldn't a long-term care home do the same?
Your mother was asymptomatic when she tested positive. Could she have been a vector herself?
That's possible. But I wasn't allowed to visit her from early March onward. I don't know what the conditions were like inside. I only know what staff told me, and I only learned my mother died when I called to tell them myself.
What do you want people to remember about your mother?
That she was stubborn and well-loved. That she had a marvellous accent and loved scratch tickets. That even dying, she was more worried about infecting her children than about herself. She deserves to be more than a statistic in a news report.