I wanted my next post to be something creative or expressive but I can’t be my authentic self if I don’t include my actual life experiences.
A few nights ago, my grandmother summoned me in whispered tones and told me to be lowkey about my father being admitted to hospital. Understandably taken aback I asked for the reason, to which she responded that he's experienced trouble breathing.
I told myself it’s not the virus that’s ravaged the planet. The one that has us observing social distancing and depleting the global supply of hand sanitizer. The one that’s changed how we physically interact and has us fondly reminiscing when watching movies scenes where the characters lovingly embrace (no, just me?).
As per usual I did some light reading before bed and started succumbing to my heavy eyelids. Still,there's the nagging thought but like a mantra used to dispel evil, I mentally repeated, ‘it’s not the virus, I’ll wake up in the morning and we’ll find out it was an unnecessary scare.'
The next day comes, my first thought was to find out what the dad situation is. It’s then I found out his tested positive and so has my mother. On top of that, his on an oxygen supply.
My first instinct was to tend to everyone else, not only them like I have before to the exclusion of myself. No ma’am, I had to make sure I’m taken care of too. I saw to everyone before forcing myself to eat something and getting ready to tackle the list of things I had planned for the day. But that list has been reduced to tending to my 9 year old brother and sister, before squeezing in some writing.
As I brushed my teeth, I told myself it’s okay not to be okay and the tears stream. I think back to the last interaction I had with my father which was him putting in a toilet seat and new lights. As this happened, I scream into a folded up towel and soft as silently as I can.
Once that’s done, the aforementioned list only has one item on it. Be there with and for the family.
Later we received a call from dad and there was a pipe attached to his face. I stuck out the call for all of two seconds before I felt the emotions clawing to get out. I couldn’t say hello, I couldn’t say goodbye. I had to get away. I’m the tough one, I needed to hold my shit together. There’s no plan B, there’s only this moment.
I’m sure I’m not alone in this, I’m sure millions have been here, in this moment where I am now. There must have been equally as many reactions but this was mine.
But some stories do have a happily ever after. My beloved father was discharged about three days later. His with us safe and sound, and told of us of his ordeal.
I count myself fortunate but for those that aren't here are some links that might help: