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Abstract

ers of rain the whole day and continuing through the night. Early in the morning, my mother wanted to lie down, was not that okay, and I let her. I should have taken her for treatment at that time itself. I had false hopes that she would be fine as she was years back. (As a child and teenager, I remember what she used to say. The same thing that she would not survive, but always recovered the next morning.) The whole afternoon, I had dozed off as I was not keeping well. Around late evening, I was calling up hospitals as she was breathless. The hospital which was her primary care itself refused treatment. The heavy rains couldn’t deter me from trying to save her. I was fighting against time, against destiny, and the will of the Almighty.Later, one hospital admitted her, put her in a cramped bed, and pumped in high-flow oxygen. I was sitting in the visiting area, wanting to take her home. After she felt a bit better, regained consciousness, she asked for me. She looked all fresh, she said that she was feeling cold and we should return home. I still remember her face, her small and beautiful hands holding mine. I reassured her.Against the 1 hour, the hospital did keep her for 3.5 hours but asked us to leave. I pleaded with the registrar to let her be there, but he refused. (We failed to get beds in other hospitals or arrange for treatment at home throughout that time.) The minute oxygen flow was stopped, she was breathless. She couldn’t even get into the car. Then, she was unconscious. I pleaded again with them to keep her on oxygen for some more time, to no avail.With hopes that she will be fine, I registered her there. But we were back to taking her to the primary hospital. With her being critical, how could I have gotten a COVID certificate then and there? If I lied to them that she is COVID negative, they would still ask for a certificate. We were losing her, still, they did not oblige. They had a special unit in the ER for critical cases, and they could have saved her. This was the same ER where they had treated her many times for her sudden gallbladder issues. But that night, they couldn’t accommodate her, a former patient, who was in a critical state. We went back to other hospitals, but all refused. I got out of the car to talk to my brother. She passed away a few minutes later at 2:30 am, with me not being at her side! I had taken care of her as long as I can remember, but during those last moments, I was not with her!I stood in the middle of the hospital compound lost, benumbed, frozen. I wished and still wish I had died at the same moment. My hospitalization ensued the next day and I am still alive.This August 24th will be 4 months of us losing her. I am back to my normal state of physical health, but not mental well-being.I am miserable when I recall that

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evening and night. From me forcing her to leave her bed at home to get her ready for the hospital (she refused stating that she will not survive and to leave her at home), to us being on the roads searching for hospitals (she was struggling to breathe sitting in the car), to her being in a cramped bed for treatment, to being out from that same bed to being back into the car, to being dead after a short while, to us leaving her dead body in the car for quite some time as we were trying to find out ways to remove her body from the car without hurting it — These moments kill me. I remember them every single day!From the perspective of negative things that happen to most of us after a loved one’s death, I am still not doing fine. I want to be candid and say that I am disturbed, guilty, regretful, shameful, and bitter. The bitterness may have subsided a bit now. I cry alone and when in prayers. I cry when I remember the torture my mother went through during her last moments.If I talk about the positive aspects of this horrifying experience, I am still grateful. I am grateful for all the help and support I received during this difficult time from my extended family. There is still some goodness left in the world.I am grateful for having had a mother like her. She loved living life to the fullest despite her long-standing health issues. She was a great host, a great cook, liked cooking and serving food to people. She was honest, never hurt anybody. She loved charity. She was a patient woman, a good homemaker, did not like wastage of money, and believed in savings. Every person who knew her respected her. If at all she had any issues in handling people or avoiding chaos and crowds and was irritated, it was only because of her mental health issues. I can go on writing about her!My mentor asked me after her death if I am carrying forward her legacy. I did not understand at that time why all this when I am grieving. I understand now what it means. I want to be as patient as her, and I want to ensure the good qualities imbibed from her remain with me. I want to be a good human being and be free from vices like her.I cannot always be brave and strong. This wound will never heal. I am vulnerable. I can be weak. I have all the memories intact. Yet, with all this, what matters is how I lead my life for the sake of the rest of the family members. How I manage my own life because life is a gift. I don’t want to waste it. Her loss is irreplaceable, but the great thing is, I am still alive (a part of her.) I can make a difference in people’s lives with my kindness. This is what life is all about.I carry the pain and the calm within me. I no longer fear Death!Copyright © August 2021 - A.H. Mehr</article></body>

The Night My Mother Died

A Grieving Daughter Remembers!

My mother never had a birth certificate. Nobody knew what date she was born, why it did not exist. (I used to celebrate her birthday and gift her on Mother’s Day.) Yet, she did get a death certificate some days back.

Back to April 29th, when I returned home after a 4-day hospitalization, all I saw was an empty house. My sister and father were waiting for me. There was a dreary silence. They looked hopeless and tired but also hopeful and filled with life after seeing me. They wanted me home. I cannot fathom what they would have gone through — My mother’s death, my hospitalization next day, my brother being far away on a work assignment, and another sister leaving after taking care of me, relatives leaving — My father and sister broke down silently, with the loneliness creeping in on them. They had suppressed their feelings and took some time to recover.

I sensed the miserable emptiness in the house despite our presence. The daybed where my mother used to sit and watch television or do her usual chores was desolate. I did not cry or wail the night of her passing away or any other time. I would have shed a few silent tears in the hospital because of acute pain, but there were no hysterics. The crying part was only for me, within me, not for anyone to see, and I knew when I would wail.

My mother passed away at the age of 63, to be precise. My father had to determine her date of birth himself based on their ages during their marriage. That also happened because we had to get an ID for her.

I know death is inevitable and all that stuff. I accept we all have to die one day. Yet, the circumstances in which she died will suffocate me every day till I am alive. It was fate wearing a hideous cloak and snatching her away from me? A death too early? Did I fail in saving her? I am not able to understand the reasons, to date.

The fourth week of April 2021 wasn’t very pleasant. There was some sense of foreboding, I was not at ease, but was also oblivious to things. Mother was ill for the past two days but recovered and was working in the kitchen. I was happy that she had recovered as usual. I was not well too and had a brain fog which I realized much later. Whenever I am guilty and regretful, I remind myself that I was also spaced out. That’s the only awareness that is letting me live now.

I still remember the dark evening of April 23rd. Heavy showers of rain the whole day and continuing through the night. Early in the morning, my mother wanted to lie down, was not that okay, and I let her. I should have taken her for treatment at that time itself. I had false hopes that she would be fine as she was years back. (As a child and teenager, I remember what she used to say. The same thing that she would not survive, but always recovered the next morning.) The whole afternoon, I had dozed off as I was not keeping well. Around late evening, I was calling up hospitals as she was breathless. The hospital which was her primary care itself refused treatment. The heavy rains couldn’t deter me from trying to save her. I was fighting against time, against destiny, and the will of the Almighty.

Later, one hospital admitted her, put her in a cramped bed, and pumped in high-flow oxygen. I was sitting in the visiting area, wanting to take her home. After she felt a bit better, regained consciousness, she asked for me. She looked all fresh, she said that she was feeling cold and we should return home. I still remember her face, her small and beautiful hands holding mine. I reassured her.

Against the 1 hour, the hospital did keep her for 3.5 hours but asked us to leave. I pleaded with the registrar to let her be there, but he refused. (We failed to get beds in other hospitals or arrange for treatment at home throughout that time.) The minute oxygen flow was stopped, she was breathless. She couldn’t even get into the car. Then, she was unconscious. I pleaded again with them to keep her on oxygen for some more time, to no avail.

With hopes that she will be fine, I registered her there. But we were back to taking her to the primary hospital. With her being critical, how could I have gotten a COVID certificate then and there? If I lied to them that she is COVID negative, they would still ask for a certificate. We were losing her, still, they did not oblige. They had a special unit in the ER for critical cases, and they could have saved her. This was the same ER where they had treated her many times for her sudden gallbladder issues. But that night, they couldn’t accommodate her, a former patient, who was in a critical state. We went back to other hospitals, but all refused. I got out of the car to talk to my brother. She passed away a few minutes later at 2:30 am, with me not being at her side! I had taken care of her as long as I can remember, but during those last moments, I was not with her!

I stood in the middle of the hospital compound lost, benumbed, frozen. I wished and still wish I had died at the same moment. My hospitalization ensued the next day and I am still alive.

This August 24th will be 4 months of us losing her. I am back to my normal state of physical health, but not mental well-being.

I am miserable when I recall that evening and night. From me forcing her to leave her bed at home to get her ready for the hospital (she refused stating that she will not survive and to leave her at home), to us being on the roads searching for hospitals (she was struggling to breathe sitting in the car), to her being in a cramped bed for treatment, to being out from that same bed to being back into the car, to being dead after a short while, to us leaving her dead body in the car for quite some time as we were trying to find out ways to remove her body from the car without hurting it — These moments kill me. I remember them every single day!

From the perspective of negative things that happen to most of us after a loved one’s death, I am still not doing fine. I want to be candid and say that I am disturbed, guilty, regretful, shameful, and bitter. The bitterness may have subsided a bit now. I cry alone and when in prayers. I cry when I remember the torture my mother went through during her last moments.

If I talk about the positive aspects of this horrifying experience, I am still grateful. I am grateful for all the help and support I received during this difficult time from my extended family. There is still some goodness left in the world.

I am grateful for having had a mother like her. She loved living life to the fullest despite her long-standing health issues. She was a great host, a great cook, liked cooking and serving food to people. She was honest, never hurt anybody. She loved charity. She was a patient woman, a good homemaker, did not like wastage of money, and believed in savings. Every person who knew her respected her. If at all she had any issues in handling people or avoiding chaos and crowds and was irritated, it was only because of her mental health issues. I can go on writing about her!

My mentor asked me after her death if I am carrying forward her legacy. I did not understand at that time why all this when I am grieving. I understand now what it means. I want to be as patient as her, and I want to ensure the good qualities imbibed from her remain with me. I want to be a good human being and be free from vices like her.

I cannot always be brave and strong. This wound will never heal. I am vulnerable. I can be weak. I have all the memories intact. Yet, with all this, what matters is how I lead my life for the sake of the rest of the family members. How I manage my own life because life is a gift. I don’t want to waste it. Her loss is irreplaceable, but the great thing is, I am still alive (a part of her.) I can make a difference in people’s lives with my kindness. This is what life is all about.

I carry the pain and the calm within me. I no longer fear Death!