Dealing with death

Every night I begin my show with the death toll. I can tell you there is no joy in doing so. By the time the day ends, and the race to get the news done is over, you’re left with a weight that crushes your spirit. In the news business, we often talk about death. Beyond a point, it’s all statistics. Sometimes it feels personal.

I lost my father two months back. It was so sudden, I’m still processing it. I have still not learned to refer to him in the past tense. I haven’t been home since and I’m not looking forward to it. A fall, an internal injury and gone in 3 days. One moment, he’s scolding me for having left the kids behind to come and see him, the next I’m being asked if we agree to the terms and conditions of him being put on a ventilator. He was a difficult person. And just like that, he went on from being a person to a body. The night he passed, the hospital staff asked me to sign something. In disbelief, I remember nodding, not sure why I was trying to reassure them. I told the nurse to be strong. She returned a sad smile. I remember stroking his arm. It was cold and bloated. I said sorry to him and all the things I couldn’t say when he was alive. He did not encourage conversation. As I said, a difficult person. Body. My father. I saw him as asleep not dead.

Many years ago, I remember lingering around the body of my grandmother, imagining her frowning upon how my parents were carrying out the rituals, punctuating the complaints with her witty one-liners. I almost expected her to swat my hand and order me to get about my business. The whole setting felt like a dismal, sadistic prank. She still lurks in my head, mostly arguing with me. These are the two closest people I’ve lost. I feel their loss deeply, but never felt any fear around what was left of them.

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It hasn’t been so in other cases. I’m still ashamed of what happened with a neighbour. An old couple, very caring and kind. The man passed away when I was at work. When I returned home, I saw people gathered. I should have gone too. I did not. I was too scared to face whatever lay on the other side of their door. The gloom of death, the grief, the loss of words and appropriate expressions I struggle with, in situations like these. It was extremely immature of me. The family never spoke to me after that. I left the society a few months later. I couldn’t summon the courage to tell them I’m sorry for their loss and I’m scared. It was awful, still disturbs me.

But nothing can match what’s happening now. There’s a stigma attached to death. The fear of infection. There are no rituals, no final goodbyes. These ceremonies can be taxing, but they serve a purpose. The logistics of managing the event keeps your mind off the sense of loss. A coronavirus death has none of it. No friends to see you off. No one to hold those who are left behind. You die alone in an isolation ward. You grieve alone behind a mask. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain of those who lose their loved ones and must suffer the injustice of being denied the last touch and hug. Is there anything worse than death? It is death infected with fear and devoid of dignity.

(Disclaimer: The opinions expressed above are the personal views of the author and do not reflect the views of ZMCL)