9 Years, 9 Months, Today
A reflection on the day I lost my dad 9 years ago, the COVID19 pandemic over the past 9 months, and my feelings today.
There is so much to celebrate this time of year — my brother’s birthday, Diwali/new year, and the holidays. There is so much joy to share, so much laughter and so much togetherness. But for me, this time of year has also been marked by sorrow, and a profound feeling of emptiness and longing. It’s safe to say I feel conflicted around this time of year.
9 years ago:
I remember my mom waking us up and hearing the worry in her voice. I remember my dad lying in his bed, unresponsive. I remember calling 911, driving behind the ambulance to the ED and waiting. I remember the last time I saw my dad, lying lifeless on the gurney.
I also remember that my family was allowed to come to the ED to support us. I remember the empathy and poise of the emergency physician who sat us down to tell us what happened face-to-face. I remember the hugs the ED staff offered and the hugs I was able to give. In the weeks that followed, we gathered at home and at the temple. My family from around the world were able to come and we were able to have a funeral with all of his loved ones.
At that time, I remember how much I didn’t want everyone at my house, every day, every night, singing hymns, talking about my dad, cooking for us. I didn’t want anyone to tell me how to feel, how to grieve. I was annoyed by this. I just wanted to be left alone.
The past 9 months:
I don’t know what is worse: a quick death like my dad’s and not being able to say goodbye or dropping off a loved one to the hospital, walking and talking, only to worsen in the days to come, and getting a phone call day in and day out, wondering as the phone rings “are they calling to tell me they have died or is it an update? Do I have to prepare to say goodbye now or is there time?”
There are no more visitors in the ED or the hospital. No more face-to-face conversations about important life events. No more hugs, no more gatherings. No large funerals, weddings, graduations, or holiday celebrations. Families and essential workers are forced to make some of the hardest decisions, knowing that for some it could mean life or death. This is not how it was meant to be, it’s the very opposite of how we function.
Today:
This time of the year today, I am even more conflicted.
I am angry at my 21-year-old self who was annoyed by being surround by family — I took it for granted. I am torn that my patients can’t have their families come see them, heartbroken that we have to use tablets to video call, and even more saddened for those who don’t have the means to do even that. I long for togetherness and being with my family and friends more than ever.
I am sorrowed not just for myself and my family, but for the thousands who have lost a loved one this year. Beyond this sorrow and feeling of emptiness and longing, the dichotomy of seeing the suffering in the hospital but hearing in the community that “this is not real, they are making it up, it’s not as bad” has left me exhausted, it has made my gut wrench and blood boil.
What I do know is that all of us have a part in making this better. Wear a mask, wash your hands, reconsider travel and gatherings. Speak up against misinformation and disinformation and if you don’t know, educate yourself and others. Support one another, check in with each other, call or video conference. Your actions today could very well mean that another person gets to hear their loved one’s voice in the weeks to come.