It took four days for my grandfather to die. At the start of the week, he was alive - by the end of it, he wasn’t. His death wasn’t related to the virus, it was not the cause of his ailment. However, the virus created a venomous barricade around my family’s grief.

Before this all happened, I naively believed that I had all the time in the world. I thought that my grandfather would live long enough to see me make something of myself. To become someone great. To become someone he would be proud of. My world stopped the day my mother told me that he didn’t have much time left. I realize now that there is a wickedness to time. There is a beginning and an end. The middle is an unknown length. A cruel reminder of our mortality. I rushed to be at his bedside, a moment that had never crossed my mind. A moment I could never prepare myself for, even if I had a whole lifetime. I stood by him, the body that once housed a brilliant man, laid withered and wretched - nothing more than a hollow shell. The body still moved to the rhythm of artificial breathing. As our family’s patriarch, we were all in shambles trying to imagine how we would function without him. I held his arm and I made him a promise. I told him that I would take care of the family, he didn’t need to worry about us when he was gone. He taught me everything I knew about keeping a family together when everyone wants to fall apart. I reluctantly said my final goodbye. The next morning, he had passed.

In the days following his death, the virus had worsened and the restrictions had become more severe. My grandfather was a well respected, revered man. He touched many lives. It was only natural that upon his death, many would want to pay their respects. Unfortunately, the virus made something that was once common practice a luxury that I would have traded the world for. I would have given anything to be surrounded by the people who loved him as much as I do. The funeral was limited to twenty-five people. We were seated in chairs that were arranged to be six feet apart. Being unable to console your family during a time of unspeakable tragedy is an experience I wouldn’t wish on anybody. All I wanted to do was hug my mother, hold my grandmother’s hand. I wanted to be close to them, to comfort them in the worst moment of their lives. All I wanted was to be with my family. But I couldn’t. We were forced to be a family at a distance. We might as well have been twenty-five strangers. The service started, I was asked to give the eulogy. I kept telling myself that I wouldn’t be able to stay composed. How could I possibly eulogize someone who made a significant impact on not only my life, but on the other lives staring back at me? As the tears nearly hit the surface, I remembered the promise I made. I promised to take care of the family. This was the first thing I had to do. Scraping the little strength and courage I had together, I had to be the one to carry my family through the suffocating darkness to see the light. I took a deep breath and immediately felt my grandfather’s energy radiate through me. That small second of familiarity gave me comfort, I knew he was at peace.

My grandfather was my hero. You never expect to outlive your heroes. When you do, your body goes into a type of shock you can’t fully recover from. A piece of you goes along with them. The end of his life was difficult for me to accept as I was faced with the harsh reality that I couldn’t fix everything. I let go of my anger, my fear, and my denial to realize it was simply his time. His soul grew restless being confined in a body that no longer served its purpose. He truly was the most extraordinary person I had the privilege of knowing. It was an honour to be related to him. I know we will meet again, in this life or the next.

Submitted by Ashleigh Catibog-Abraham.

Death During A Pandemic