Death of a loved one brings home the absolute devastation wrought by this virus

Icame back from a morning jog recently to find my cellphone lit red with missed calls from desperate relatives. My heart sank. I contacted one of the callers and, without uttering a word, she shrieked with an anguish that pierced my heart. My fears were confirmed. Prince Mashego, my dear cousin and a pillar of the clan, was no more.

Prince had come down with what he thought was a bout of flu and decided to see a doctor, who prescribed some medication and sent him home. But the flu got worse. It was only on his second visit, days later, that it dawned on the doctor that it could be something worse, and a Covid-19 test was done.

By the time the test confirmed the obvious — after another critical few days had passed — Prince was gravely ill and his oxygen dangerously low. He was rushed to hospital. We feared the worst when a few days later his wife was suddenly summoned to the hospital. Fortunately, it turned out he was still alive but complained about being cold — a complaint one often hears from Covid-19 patients.

But three days later, Prince was gone, killed by a virus that didn’t exist a little over six months ago. It was a sucker punch. Family and friends were left reeling with shock, many questions and some recriminations. Could we have done more to save his life? Should we have sent him to hospital? One relative thought not. He and his wife had survived the disease by taking care of themselves at home. He said it was a mistake to take Prince to hospital.

“They don’t come back [from hospital],” he said. It’s a view that is unfortunately widely held: if you have the virus, avoid being admitted, especially to a public hospital. Even the nursing staff, apparently, are wary of Covid-19 patients. Many hospitals still don’t have enough personal protective equipment for staff.

Prince was a fine human being — quiet, peaceable, with a bagful of humorous repartees and always ready to lend a hand. He would not have approved of being a subject of discussion. He was not one to draw attention to himself. He lived for others. No task or errand would be beneath him. For someone who was always there for others, it was sad that, due to the lockdown, only a few people could attend his funeral. As one speaker put it, Prince deserved a royal send-off.

I’ve been wondering why it’s taking us so long to come to terms with Prince’s death, and I guess many grieving families are going through the same thing. Death is obviously traumatic, but dying by Covid-19 particularly so. A loved one is abruptly usurped, like an unsuspecting quarry being snatched by a wily predator. And a Covid-19 victim also has to be buried before the family can even catch their breath or come to terms with what’s happened.

Often when there’s a death, relatives and women in the area will descend on the grieving family armed with blankets to stay until after the funeral. And throughout there will be a steady stream of visitors coming to express their condolences and offer prayers. Such company, the camaraderie, is the balm that helps to dull the pain.

But in the era of Covid-19, all that can’t happen. The body can’t come home to spend the night one last time, and it has to be buried within a few days. Mourners can’t embrace or console each other. Grieving families are therefore denied the social or cultural accoutrements that help them to mourn and ultimately come to terms with their loss. There is therefore no appropriate closure as far as the death of the relative is concerned. Instead, the loneliness and the abrupt and brusque manner in which the whole process is carried out only help to pile on even more pain.

There has been very little said or written about the people who have succumbed to the disease. They’re just numbers. We tend to look at the number of those dying and squirm or get scared And so we avert our eyes.

But very few people have been left untouched by the virus. Either a relative, a friend or a colleague is dead or infected. Along with the rest of humanity, we’ve been overwhelmed by the sheer devastation wrought by this virus. The finer details, the individual suffering, the personal stories of the victims have been buried under the rubble.

In our eagerness to get back to normal, we tend to forget that the virus is still as lethal as ever. We think level 1 means it’s gone away. And so we let our guard down. Many people, for instance, walk around without masks. All sorts of festivities are back in vogue.

And as the government rushes to congratulate itself on a job well done, it would do well to remember that too many people are still in mourning or burying their loved ones. It therefore will have to choose its words carefully. A more cheerful tone could sound out of place or even insensitive.

The government has also been giving itself high marks for the high number of recoveries, which now stands at around 90% of those infected. But what it’s not saying is the fact that a fair number of those have been left with permanent scars or afflictions that they didn’t have before they were infected. Recent studies estimate that around 35% of those who have recovered have such ailments, and that includes people who never showed any symptoms.

As developments in Europe, the US and other countries show, the virus seems to be roaring back with a vengeance. Should we experience a second (or third) wave, does the government have the stomach for another lockdown? Or does it have other more effective tools in its arsenal?