#goodbyedad

During the weeks leading up to my father’s death, I searched endlessly for articles or blog entries on losing a parent during a global pandemic when living abroad. I never found anything. I was just looking for that connection to help me cope, or having something to help me understand what I was supposed to feel.

I feel that I needed to write this blog entry to find my way to come to terms with the sadness, the loneliness and the goodbye that I never had.

I am currently supposed to be in Dalat. It was my reward for the constant hard work from teaching without a break, the year I have been through and the sleep deprivation I have endlessly experienced. However, Ho Chi Minh City is currently on lockdown and it isn’t safe to travel. I decided to stay in HCMC over the Têt holiday, without getting that break we all so rightly deserved. Dalat was for my time to think, be alone, grieve some more and come to terms with everything that has happened in this past year.

In the weeks leading up to my father’s death, I slowly watched him deteriorate via FaceTime. Moving in and out of consciousness, when just a few weeks before he was chatting and laughing. He would always cry when he saw Yuki, he would always cry when he had to say goodbye to me. He would also cry and ask: “when will all this end?” (Meaning Covid).

My father had cancer. He had survived it before, but when it returned there was nothing more that they could do. It’s not quick...it’s slow. It takes a long time, he deteriorated, could no longer open his eyes or even take a drink.

I think it was about two weeks before my father passed that I couldn’t watch him anymore on FaceTime. My sister would hold the phone and I would say something, I could sometimes hear a grunt but not much else towards the end.

People said, “oh why are you here? Why don’t you go home?” People live in a fantasy world. The stress of getting Covid tests, never mind the costs of flights, not knowing when I could get a return and the cost of a return flight too. The cost of quarantine when eventually re-entering Vietnam, having no pay for months possibly, giving up Yuki for months, giving up my apartment...where does all my stuff go? It isn’t that simple anymore, not during Covid times. I really wished people would stop and think before they said “oh, can’t you go home?” It isn’t an option for everyone.

So as the guilt and loneliness starts to sneak in...you find out who your friends are. Those that aren’t supportive or don’t just send a little message: “are you ok?” But then you have those friends that buy you flowers and a journal, or that friend who lives on the other side of the world and phones you every single day.

I worked all the way up to my father’s death. It’s different in Asia to the western world, I feel that you are just supposed to get on with it. Don’t expect co-workers to ask you how you are, or if you are managing, it won’t happen. I worked on the day my father was actually dying. I woke up on the Saturday morning to missed calls and found out he had passed.

I got three days compassionate leave and I was back in work. During those three days, I was extremely ill. Weak, shivering, aching. I tried to eat. I spent my days watching film after film. I would wake up in my sleep from crying. This was the toughest time for me, I felt completely alone.

My father’s funeral wasn’t until two weeks later, after Christmas. I couldn’t even get closure from it until he got put to rest. I watched his funeral via FaceTime on my phone, I couldn’t hear what the vicar was saying but I could hear the music being played. It was a short funeral but I got nothing from it...I just felt empty. The next morning I had a parent’s meeting at a school. Life goes on here.

My father’s last few months was spent in my parents bedroom. He could never leave because of Covid. He never got to see outside again, to walk around his garden or go for a ride in his car. He was a prisoner in his own home. This silent war has put us through experiences we have all never thought possible - boredom, depression, loneliness, anxiety and disconnection. This silent war has took away the dignity from those dying, it has taken away rights to how they wish to spend their last moments. This silent war has taken away life itself.

This is what it’s like to lose your parent during a pandemic on the other side of the world. No one tells you about the sleep deprivation, the waking up in the night and not being able to get back to sleep. The difficulty when trying to eat or being able to enjoy yourself. I had to hold back the tears as I would try to teach. Death is always hard but this was tough, really tough. I will always think of the positive times with my father but I will always have missed out on that grieving process with family. I don’t expect anyone to read this but if it helps me heal then that is all that matters.

El 12 de mayo del 2020 recibimos noticia que mi tío, que más que eso fue mi padre por mucho tiempo había perdido la vida. Continúe, quise avanzar junto con mi padre biológico, y desde el 14 de mayo hasta el 23 de Diciembre estuvimos juntos, ¿por qué? Porque el 23 de Diciembre, hace 1 semana... Nos notificaron que mi padre había fallecido. Fueron 7 meses llenos de comunicación, llenos de afecto, llenos de amor... Voy a extrañar las llamadas y más que eso, voy a extrañar las navidades a tu lado.

Fallé con la Universidad pero hoy hago promesa de que voy a quedar y no sólo Dana será profesional, te sentirás orgulloso de tener dos hijas profesionales. Te amo y te mando un beso a ti y a mi tío, mando besos y amor hasta el cielo.