I lost my dad to COVID on June 8^th, 2021. He was a fighter. He fought valiantly in the ICU for more than a month. We, as a family, fought the battle together. And we lost. While I am still in denial over his death and keep hoping I am stuck in a terrible nightmare and that all this would be over the moment I woke up- all this while I am struggling to come to terms with reality. I am trying to figure out a lot of things at the same time. I am googling a lot of articles that mentions how to cope with grief after losing a parent, grief after losing dad, father daughter quotes. Trust me, I have looked at a large number of articles aimed at helping one handle grief after losing a parent, I have reached out to my friends who recently lost their loved ones to COVID and I have not found one single answer so far.

            Ours was a harrowing experience similar to many others. My dad was quarantining at home following development of COVID symptoms. We decided to hospitalize him when his oxygen levels started dipping. Unfortunately, at that time, India was reeling under a devastating second wave of COVID which resulted in almost zero availability of hospital beds. He had to wait for 5-6hrs outside the ER of a hospital just to be told they could not admit him but would support him with oxygen for a couple of hours while we searched for vacancy in other hospitals in the city. We had been calling all possible hospitals and nursing homes frantically and luckily found an ICU bed in one of the well-known hospitals. We were relieved. Unfortunately, by that time, my dad’s oxygen saturation had dipped dangerously. However, we did not lose hope. Thus, began our month-long journey fighting for dad’s recovery. We lost track of day and time. I hardly ate or slept. Our life got molded into a fixed routine- we would call the hospital at 6am every morning to find out about dad. Then we would wait for him to wake up, have his tea after which he would video call me. I would just sit on the couch until he called, refusing to shower or eat. His oxygen requirements were very high the first week, but he remained conscious the whole time and did not develop any respiratory distress. He did develop the cytokine storm though. However, from third week onwards, his health began to improve, giving us a little more hope every day. It was a battle we needed to win for him. I would constantly tell him that his health was improving, and that doctors were hopeful he would return home soon.

            On the other hand, I also had to emotionally support my mother who was also quarantining alone at home. I tried to convince her that with each passing day, dad was getting better and that he would come back home and live a long life with us. My mother would spend her days thinking what she would cook for dad after he came back home or how she would need to care for him post COVID. It was a herculean task for me because India was under a second lockdown and I was stuck here in the US unable to fly back home to be with them during this tough time of our lives. But our days were now gradually feeling brighter until Monday morning, June 7^th when suddenly dad’s parameters started going haywire. With each hour his health destabilized and he was moved to ventilation. And a little after midnight, he left us for a better place, free of all pains he was suffering from.

Our world was devastatingly torn apart.

            Ever since, I have been struggling to cope with the grief. For the first two days, I allowed myself to weep. It is hard to explain the thoughts that came to my mind and slowly ate me from inside. The fact that I could not be with dad during his final days and could not see him one last time- that I would never see or be able to touch him again ripped me apart. I kept looking at the messages he sent me from his ICU bed. The ones I waited for every day- that he could finish his meal, days when felt better or had his medicines. The very thought that he would never send me those messages again felt like a stabbing pain in my chest. I kept on thinking about our last conversation. I kept on asking myself: was I a good daughter? Did I do enough? What else could I have done to ensure his recovery? I felt like a complete failure, having promised both dad and mom that we would bring him back home after full recovery and then failing to do so. I wished to die to be with him. My own existence felt unbearable. My grief gradually turned into anger towards my husband. He had stood like a rock supporting me the entire time. But I was mean and angry. I refused to acknowledge that he was trying to help. All I could think was how would he understand my pain? His parents are still alive.

There are not enough words to embody the heartbreak I am feeling right now. The sorrow is unexplainable. Our friends and family were also mourning, sending us condolences. My father’s colleagues have told me that they have not just lost a wonderful co-worker but an elder brother. But after a point, messages and condolences stop as people move on with their lives. And we are left to live with our grief and a heartache which probably will never go away.

            Time passes. But does the grief lessen or get better with time? No, it does not. Losing a parent changes us forever. We will never be the same again. We simply learn to live with the grief. I went back to work from last Monday, a week after my dad left us. I have stopped sharing how I feel as a rule now, even with my husband. But at odd hours, grief just sits there as a lump in my throat or like a cloudburst behind my eyes. I allow myself to breakdown, in office restrooms or at home when nobody else is around. I wish I had called my dad more, pestered him more about his health updates. I wish I could drink that last glass of single malt whiskey with him. I wish I had cooked more for him when he visited me in the US a few years back. Whenever I look at his picture or light a candle in his memory, I feel hollow.

I read somewhere that grief is nothing but love that we want to give but cannot. It is all the unspent love that is now trapped. I am slowly trying to accept that I will perhaps grieve forever. The hurting will never go away for as long as I am alive. But life has to go on. It will go on. And I have to move on and rise again, for my dad. I have to take care of myself, my family, and fulfill his dreams.