Loss in Lockdown

Grief and Bereavement is an extremely isolating experience. However, going through it during a pandemic is a completely different ordeal.

2020. The golden year I was waiting my entire life for; my 18th birthday, the Olympics were scheduled, I was going to university, and then the pandemic started. The world went into flames. However, it seemed to have scorched my family the most.

March 31st ripped my entire life apart. I found my mum unconscious on the floor barely breathing.

My mum was suddenly rushed to hospital where she was diagnosed with the dreaded virus that was broadcast on every news outlet you could see, Covid-19. My mum is a strong woman, she survived two heart attacks, organ failures and pneumonia. I thought she was going to recover and then my parents and I can just continue living in Lockdown until the pandemic ended.

It was never going to be that easy.

Whilst locked in my home with my Dad, he started coughing. I knew what had happened, He had it too. He was 79. There are only two ways this can go. He started to get worse over seven days, whenever I’d speak to him, I could hear the bubbling noises coming from his chest more than anything and the continuous coughing. I knew I had to make a decision. I didn’t want to, and he hated being ill. But, I had to go against his wishes and take him to the hospital.

His condition deteriorated within hours. I was told by the hospital to come over as soon as possible as my Dad was predicted not to make it by the end of the day.

I collapsed. I knew I had to experience this at some point in my life, but not now. My mum was still in hospital fighting for her life. It suddenly hit me that I could be orphaned by the next day. I ran as fast as I could to the hospital where the doctor took me into a quiet room in the Covid ward, told me what was going to happen and decided on how to break it to my mother who, unbeknownst to me, was recovering in the bay next door.

All I could remember from that point was getting dressed in full PPE, a hazmat suit, video-calling my relatives and walking past traumatised nurses, stressed doctors and body bags.

My mum was glowing in her hospital bed, excited to see me and tell me what weird experience she had waking up in the hospital. It broke my heart to tell her, to see her happy expression slowly turn into fear and sadness. I asked the doctor to move us three into an empty bay to say goodbye to Dad for the last time.

That was the last night we were a full family.

It was the most horrifying night of my life. I couldn’t sleep, I was terrified to wake up and find my Dad dead next to me.

He survived until the morning. My mum begged me to leave as she didn’t think it was safe for me to be in a Covid ward for too long. Before I left I told her, “After today, it’s me and you against the world.” I walked the entire way back home, still wearing the mask I wore for 12 hours in the Covid ward, completely soaked with the tears that never seemed to stop coming out of my eyes. I thought I was going to pass out by my front door. Not even two steps into my house I got a phone call from a withheld number.

“I’m sorry to tell you your Dad has just passed away.”

He died on 9th April. He was just a week short of reaching his 80th Birthday.

Silence. All I could hear was my heart beating and the clock in the living room ticking. I told the doctor that I’d never dealt with immediate loss before and I didn’t know what to do. I never did find out from him, I figured out what to do on my own and it was a frustratingly stressful experience.

Two weeks in solitary confinement in my own home, left with my own thoughts and flashbacks of what I saw in the Covid wards. When my mum was ill my Dad was always there to fall back on, my wingman in life. I felt so lost without him there telling me what to do.

1,198 people died that day. Not just my dad, but six patients that were in my mum’s bay. She was the only one in that ward who survived.

That evening was a Thursday, so people went outside and clapped for the NHS but I felt angry and bitter. I couldn’t clap for them. They couldn’t save my dad. But they did save my mum’s life. I was conflicted. I was filled with guilt of my own, what if I sent my dad to the hospital sooner, what if I could’ve done more and he would still be here. I would be lying to myself if it wasn’t a daily thought of mine even now.

I had to plan his cremation and funeral all by myself. Talking to funeral directors and lawyers, was completely overwhelming. Only 10 people were allowed to go pay their respects. This was not fair. I had just turned 18 and I felt like I was kicked straight into adulthood like it was some sort of cruel joke made by a higher power that I must’ve angered. Why did it have to happen to my family? Why did it have to be my Dad?

It’s been two years since then and the grief still hits me like a truck. The healing process has been extremely rocky. It made me incredibly existential and cynical of the world. I didn’t have a healthy support system guiding me through the grieving process which caused even more issues I’m still yet to come to terms with.

However, I did find some sort of peace when I found on Facebook a Covid-19 bereavement support group called “Covid-19 Bereaved Families for Justice UK”. They had set up a Covid-19 memorial wall and I volunteered to help out and marched with them on its first anniversary in March this year. It was incredibly cathartic drawing hearts on the wall and honouring each one with a lost loved one. I became good friends with the founder who had lost her Dad and sharing our experiences with each other made me realise that I wasn’t alone in my struggle and there were loads of us that went through the same thing.

Although, throughout this entire time, I’ve always kept my mum close to my heart and we overcame our grief together. We both went through emotional obstacles and still have a long way to go and to get used to not having my Dad here. So, it will always be us two against the world, no matter what happens. I’ll love and miss him always.