Collateral Damages
by Chiara Bajet
At the time of writing this, it has already been a year and a few months since Covid-19 hit the world. I am sure the pandemic has affected each and every one of us in one way or another - some of us may have lost jobs, been stuck at home for weeks on end, put plans on hold, have separated from our spouses, given birth without any form of financial security, or worse, have lost a loved one because of the virus.
I guess in terms of loss, the death of a loved one would be the most painful of them all. Money and wealth can always be regained in time, but not the life of someone we love. In concept, this is the very reason why governments ordered lockdowns and imposed quarantine protocols in the first place. As civil human beings, it is and should be a default to choose life over livelihood.
So how does it feel to have a loved one passed away in one of the darkest times in modern history? In my experience, it was a strange type of difficult. Difficult because there was nothing that could have been done about it, no matter the effort. As an immigrant here in Italy, it was just a matter of accepting and literally pushing oneself to carry on, while being far away from everyone else. The worst part of it all was that the whole ordeal was somewhat just considered as part of the "new normal", something that is of a lesser tragedy. Masses of dead bodies are being burned on the roadside in India. Someone dying in family due to natural causes is, well, just unfortunate.
My grandmother passed away about a month ago, thankfully not from Covid-19, but from old age. From how most of us saw it, her death was triggered by depression, having been isolated since the early part of 2020. She was 99. Yes, I understand that the body is frail as it could be at that age. At 40, I already unexpectedly feel tired by 10:00 pm, so I can imagine that for someone more than twice my age, waking up in the morning in a nursing home without no one to talk to is just plain dreadful. For most, it is already a blessing to live that long, and it would be entirely inaccurate to say that she might have lived longer if the pandemic did not happen. On paper, we could not have asked for anything more. However, the difficulty while there is a global pandemic going on isn't necessarily defined by someone getting sick or getting laid off. It would be unjust to oversimplify the situation in that way. As they say, no man is an island.
In my Lola's case, she was still as sharp as a knife a few weeks before she passed away. Sure, she was not at the peak of her health, but she looked like she was okay - that she was going to pull through, that we were going to see her the moment this all blows over. However, the lack of human contact and affection was too much for her. Being from a different generation, online meet-ups and virtual hugs made no sense. Growing up already having access to the Internet, it still can get tiring for me to be online more than necessary, what more to someone who saw texting as the coldest possible way to greet someone.
In the end, I guess she did not see the point of holding on for much longer. Maybe she thought that she has already given what she can to her family, even more than what was possible. She has achieved peace within herself, has made peace with our Maker, and has no milestones left to cross out on her list. Having been in a nursing home in the US for more than 10 years might be considered a very generous perk already, as we did not have to worry about her comfort or the quality of her life as she aged. However, the other side of it is that we could have been with her more, especially during the lockdowns. If some of us might have complained about being cooped up in the same space with our families for months on end, it was the exact opposite for us – it was impossible for us to be with family members while they needed us the most.
Around mid-March, my family and I had to accept that she was indeed dying, and the nursing home encouraged us to help her let go. According to them, it was the dignified way to go about it. Death, I guess, is different in different parts of the world. A few hours before my Lola's passing, I was able to say goodbye to her through WhatsApp. We were discouraged to express sadness, but only love and gratitude. In concept, it seemed like a perfect ending. She crossed the finished line with perfect marks in terms of what a peaceful death should be like -- there was no pain, no heart attack, no drama. Her breath just quickened for a bit, her blood pressure slowly dropped, and then that was it. She was gone. Most of her children were able to say goodbye and hold her for a few minutes, while fully wrapped in plastic. For the rest of us who were not able to go to the US because of travel restrictions, we had to contend with what technology afforded us.
Other than what the nursing home and the US health system suggested for us to do, I must admit that there is something to be grateful for what happened. It really could have been worse. A few weeks to prepare and 10 years was enough time. As what we see on the television and social media, there are more horrible ways to die. Having said that, it does not make things any less painful for those of us who were left behind. I am no grief expert, but I am sure our loss is not less painful than those who suffered from a bigger tragedy.
On my part, the takeaway from this experience is acceptance. Acceptance is as foreign to me as is Zoom was to my Lola, which brought to mind something an aunt gave for my grade school graduation. It was a picture frame with the Prayer of Serenity etched on the side. It goes like:
God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.
With everything that is happening, nothing else can be truer and nothing else could be harder.
