Death be not proud. Covid destroys the living…
Roshan Jainath | Author
My childhood cousin Naveen, was diagnosed with Covid 19, together with 5 members of his and my immediate family. He was hospitalised a week before he was moved into the ICU. Overnight his oxygen levels plummeted to 67 %. We were to learn mid morning that our youngest brother was no more.
Our Hindu culture sees an entire family congregate overnight at the home of a deceased family member. Family takes over funeral arrangements, feeding and the support structure allows the family to simply mourn.
Covid-19 has changed all of this. The family is alone in the midst of the most uncertain time in living memory of most people.
And when my boet went to a hospital, some of us feared that we will not see him again. It was that sinking feeling which was met by an unbelievable sense of helplessness. Boet Navs was a diabetic and a brave heart. Diabetes did not scare him but it was to undo his wonderful spirit when he was infected by covid.
We grew up in a 4 bedroomed home which somehow housed an extended family of 23 people. My dad passed on when I was 5 and we lived in the home of my maternal grandmother. The dad of boet Navs is the brother of my mum. So among my mum’s other brothers I was fortunate to have 4 fathers and many mums together with so many wonderful siblings.
Boet Navs was the baby among the siblings. At that time we did not know the meaning of cousin. It was the best of times and we were seriously unaware of the worst of times which certainly existed. As kids we loved life because we loved each other.
And then we grew up and our lives took on different pathways in our family river. We became cousins. Responsibilities dims the expression of love. Not the love itself because love continues to burn like an unlit flame in a heart hardened by stress.
When my boet passed on I sobbed like a brother would. Maturity and acceptance makes one accept death.
The point of writing this piece is not to share the story of losing a sibling. It is about the pain of a covid funeral. My 70 something mum and aunt together with their 85 year old brother sat in my car as we parked outside the home of their brother whom I call Prenks. It is my pet name for my surrogate father. I saw a broken man stand across the road looking at his family seated in cars. My occupants in my car where torn apart by watching their brother and the daughter and wife of boet Navs. Silence was never so deafening. Silent tears was never so intense. Some other family members broke the Covid protocol and proceeded to place flowers on the coffin which sat in the hearse. I was consumed by a sense of guilt that felt so much like cowardice as I steadfastly refused to allow the oldest members in my family from leaving the car. I knew that we were exploding with an emotion which we did not understand. What broke my heart was when my uncle turned and slowly walked away. I felt a sense of rage towards God that I never felt before. Save for the occupants in my car being at a tipping point of their own turmoil I restrained myself from shouting out to God. Have mercy on your people. My Lord, I am sorry for how we continue to destroy and destruct the earth. I am so sorry for our avarice but pray show mercy to a world in crisis and grief.
The day and the night will find a semblance of peace. Even though I wonder about this daring virus which not only steals our siblings, parents, friends and family. It infuses guilt with grief. I see that covid form and shape which is the icon of the virus, grinning at me. How dare you, virus of darkness and ingenious deceit.
Yet my Lord resides in my heart and soothes my pain. It is His will that I must seek to accept. I do not have the capacity to understand His plan but through His grace I can just about accept His will and trust His plan.
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