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I am my parents' only child and I lost my father to COVID in December 2020. It has been 7 months and I still feel anger, disbelief, grief, pain and utter hopelessness. This disease has made us lose not only our loved ones but also our sanity and ability to carry on - for there is no closure, no way of knowing how the ones who have been snatched from us, felt in their last moments. Most of them died alone and there can be nothing more tragic than that.
My family, along with my parents came down with the infection. My mother was isolated at home and my father had to be hospitalized as his SpO2 had gone down to 80. We were in quarantine and not allowed to leave home, let alone visit him.
I got him admitted to the hospital on my birthday and that was the last I saw him. My father had battled many serious illnesses and come out of them. This time too I believed that he would come back. Instead, he was handed back to us, wrapped in a black canvas with no option of touching him, or hugging him one last time.
He passed away 15 days later due to multi organ failure. The last thing he said to me before being whisked away to the ICU was that he couldn't breathe. It was my birthday and now it will be a day of dread for me forever. I sent away to death, the man who brought me into this world, held my hand, taught me to walk, taught me life lessons, always gave me courage, boosted my confidence and was my pillar of strength.
Perhaps, someday I will be able to move on. But will I ever be able to rid myself of this guilt? I don't think I will be able to. Whenever I faced any crisis or challenge, my Baba would say, "All will be well. Good days or bad days never last forever." But this nightmare of a virus seems everlasting. "Baba I long to hear your words of encouragement. I long to hold your hand. I long to say sorry. I long for this nightmare to end."
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