Disclaimer: In Real Life is a platform for everyday people to share their experiences and voices. All articles are personal stories and do not necessarily echo In Real Life’s sentiments.
This experience happened to someone who wishes to remain anonymous. I was given her permission to share it here. All names have been changed to preserve the storyteller’s privacy.
My mum died of COVID-19 in an ICU ward at 2 am.
The news made me sad, but I kept my cool. I informed the family. We grieved.
In some way, her death was dystopian, because when she died, she cleared a bed for my dad in the ICU. My dad was also a COVID-19 patient in critical condition.
One night, I received a call
It was the hospital where my father was. The doctors wanted to intubate him and needed my consent. I hurriedly muttered my agreement.
Very soon after, I received another call from the hospital.
My dad was dead.
I wanted to know what happened.
“It was as if he lost his mind. He started to pull out the oxygen tubes,” the doctor said.
Next, my dad convulsed and flatlined. The doctors rushed to put the oxygen back in, but it was too late.
He was gone.
The news shook me to my core.
I collapsed into a heap on the ground outside my house, screaming. Tears poured down my cheeks, blurring my vision. I looked like a mad woman, but I didn’t care.
It was a stark contrast from how I reacted to my mum’s death. It wasn’t that I love one parent more than another. Perhaps, it was… unresolved feelings?
A few days later, dad’s belongings arrived back from the hospital
I went through his stuff looking for his ID for legal paperwork. It wasn’t in his wallet.
So I went through his phone, hoping to find a picture of his ID there. I knew his password because he was a technologically illiterate old man and I often helped him with his phone.
As I was going through his pictures, I got the shock of my life.
I found pictures and videos from a woman. He appeared to have two children with this woman.
My father had a mistress I did not know about. My father had a whole other family that I did not know about.
I barely kept it together afterwards
The next day was my birthday. The urns of both my parents arrived.
At this point, I had not slept a wink overnight and had no appetite to eat.
My brother and I hosted a digital wake. While emotions were high and we were in the middle of the service, my uncle called my phone.
I kept rejecting the calls as we were busy. Finally, my uncle sent a message: “Your brother is COVID positive. He needs to be isolated now!”
I dropped my laptop in horror. Immediately, I grabbed cleaning tools and started sanitising the house like crazy. While people were giving their eulogies, I was busy wiping down every surface I could find.
For the next two weeks, my brother and I couldn’t even hug each other to share the grief
We couldn’t physically cry together for comfort.
The rest of my family was allowed space to process and grief, but I was overwhelmed with holding down the fort.
I was dealing with paperwork, taking care of my brother, sourcing for money to pay his college tuition… all while planning a wedding and shifting jobs.
It was only later that I had the space to deal with my own trauma and grief.
Honestly, I was so angry at my dad
All these years, when he told my mum that he didn’t have enough money, was it because he was financially supporting a waitress and paying for her degree in culinary arts?
Was his infidelity the reason why my mum refused to seek medical treatment for any ailment she had, so as not to be a financial burden to the family?
Was this the reason why she refused to be taken to the hospital until the last minute, even after she got COVID-19?
Was his financial obligation to his other family what forced him to go out and work in the middle of the pandemic, catching the virus and spreading it to the family?
I feel like my dad and his bastard family killed my mum.
In spite of all that, I can’t stay mad at my dad’s second family
I found myself calling them to check if they were okay.
My husband is the product of an affair, as is one of my best friends. I know what bastard children of the world have to suffer.
Some part of me blames myself. I think I could’ve done more. It’s my fault they’re dead. I should’ve died in their place. Why was I COVID-19 negative all three times I was tested despite having fevers?
Did I hoard all the good luck in the world, depriving my parents of any?
Is this survivor’s guilt?
I feel that my dad did not deserve my mum
She was the most selfless person I ever met. A constant remark I receive about my mum is that she never forgets a birthday.
During the digital wake I held to commemorate my mum, my mum’s old schoolmate said, “I met her during a reunion but actually didn’t even remember her from high school. But when she found out that I had cancer, she rushed to assist me in getting financial aid and sat with me in long hospital lines, waiting for chemo.”
Even my mum’s last message to our priest before she died was, “Please pray for my daughter and husband because they are both sick.” She didn’t even ask for prayer for herself.
Some part of me wonders if she’s up there in heaven now praying for my dad’s soul to be redeemed.
I’m sorting through the anger and the guilt
I wonder about the circumstances that led to my parents being the way they were, my mum so selfless, and my dad so wanton in his actions.
Sometimes, when I think about it, I get so angry that it’s like I’m having an ADHD attack. My thoughts fly all over the place, attacking my mind. Whenever that happens, my day is ruined and I can’t function anymore. All I do is run replay scenarios in my head, thinking of ways to berate the object of my wrath (often my dad).
He’s not all bad. He was actually a well-loved generous person who stood for what he believed in. He was an activist who had done time for his cause. He was a real mixed bag.
I’m working toward forgiving him. All I can say is that it’s a work in progress.
For more stories like this, read: I Hid My Boyfriend’s Side Chick In The Backseat Of My Car To Expose Him.
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