I would never want to turn back to recall my last few months, how life drastically changed its face towards me and my family.
For so long, life was pretty satisfying. I was occupied with my own stuff; life was healthy and peaceful.
After few painful months of illness and suffering, I lost my husband on the 24th of May 2021.
Due to the pandemic, we had to seek treatment at an hospital, who eyed the potential profit from my husband’s illness. They drained my savings along with the hope of bringing him back alive.
They charged unreasonable charges, then put him along with covid patients in the ICU.
They didn’t care; they fed him unnecessary medicines and didn’t do the required emergency treatments. If we questioned their intentions, we were harshly yelled at and ignored. Each doubt we raised made them threaten to delay his meds. We suffered financially, emotionally and physically.
All alone, I stood there, day and night to observe them silently.
The last few months have showed that death during this pandemic can be the loneliest of affairs. Family members and friends stayed away, using the excuse of lock downs and fear of contagion.
When he died, my son and I collected the body and performed the final rites at the cremation ground, helpless and alone. Only one friend came to console me and send help to my daughter, who was alone at home. My nephew traveled during the rainy night to help us take care of ourselves.
The next day, we had to pick up the ashes. All alone. None of his blood related family turned up.
The lockdown has changed the way we mourn. Not being able to cope with grief is likely to leave a deep impact on our psyche. Packed, highly charged ambulances, queued dead bodies, rushed farewells, unreasonable charges and desperate cries at the unexpected deaths were the norm at crematoriums.
For most of the families, death in the time of the coronavirus compounds a time of great tragedy.
In normal times, death was rarely quiet. Everyone visited, shared grief, fondly recalled the memories, bathed the beloved, make them wear new clothes with some Gangajal in their mouth. It should have been a similar farewell to Kusumakar too.
I feel sad that the vivacious, stylish and sophisticated king that he was, Mr Kusumakar went to the crowded crematorium without his favorite colours draped on him. He was a good man, he deserved more.
Being in lockdown, the challenge of procuring, death summary, death certificate, shifting of the house, health insurance,13th day rituals left us with no time to grieve.
We are all aware about Kusumakar’s love of Mangalore, hence we decided to perform the 13th day rituals there. These emotions of gratitude, love, respect and commemoration call for a grand celebration of the 13th day after death, where the soul moves on its journey to send him to his peace.
Travel during the lockdown was not permitted, but with reason at hand, my children and I traveled to Mangalore. Every checkpoint, we were stopped and questioned. We had to show them the death certificate to proceed.
It always felt good to respect the feelings of Kusumakar and we could perform religiously the pinnda pradana karya(ritual) with the help of priest to wash off the asthi in Kumaradhara river.
My children were very closely knitted with their father, always caring and helping him. Both of them were devasted; even today, they are unable to sleep peacefully at night.
There’s a lot of paperwork and running around, for it is a difficult job, one that can drain you mentally. It can also be physically challenging.
I don’t have the time to be sad…
I have recurring nightmares, very bad dreams of being alone… watching death…
Grieving the loss of my husband at a time when every aspect of life was completely upended.
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