You Are Not Alone
If you have lost a loved one during the pandemic you are not alone. It doesn’t matter whether it happened due to the Coronavirus, an extended illness, or a sudden accident. It could have happened when saying a last goodbye, practicing a religious ritual, or moving through the grieving process that was too hard to comprehend even for the most intelligent and spiritual minds.
My Mom lived in Poland. She was independent and living alone in the house where I was born until the beginning of January of this year. About a year ago, my mother started showing symptoms of Alzheimer’s, a disease that ran in her family. After considering and exploring various options, my siblings and I decided to find a senior-living facility where our Mom would be comfortable and receive the proper care she needed in her condition. It was a difficult decision, but it turned out that Mom liked her new home, and for the first few months of her stay, she was happier and healthier than before her illness began.
I started to contemplate my visit to Poland, trying to decide whether I should go sooner or later to allow Mom to settle into her new place. It was mid-February when I heard a whisper in my head, “go now.” The Coronavirus was already rampant in Asia and gradually spreading to the United States and Europe. There was a growing concern broadcasting through the media, but day-to-day life seemed to be going on as usual. Without overthinking it, I listened to my inner voice, and one week later I was on my way to Europe.
I arrived in my hometown outside of Cracow to the family home for the first time without my parents (my dad passed away three years ago), which brought back some fond memories and stirred up sorrowful emotions. The weather in Poland was gloomy. I noticed the effects of climate change since I had moved to the United States 30 years ago. It was unusually warm for February, no signs of snow, but instead frequent rain, fog, with heavy cloud cover.
I was nervous the first day I went to visit Mom at the Senior Living Home, not sure if she would even remember me due to her illness, but she did! I was with her every day and she always knew who I was and why I was there. She was pleased with her new home and the care she was receiving, but she was also aware of her health challenges and the progress of her illness. I spent much time listening to her stories from the past or stories that I knew were not real. We held hands, talked about my growing children, and the wishes for her final moments and after she dies.
Since I was busy with my Mom, I wasn’t paying much attention to the current local and international news. But one day, I tuned on the radio and heard about the first cases of coronavirus in Poland with more cases in Italy, Germany, and France. It was clear to me that Poland was taking this situation seriously. The Polish government was already preparing medical facilities for the outbreak, isolating people traveling from effected countries, considering strict travel restrictions, and acquiring coronavirus testing equipment. I could tell the concern was growing in Poland and around the world.
On my last day in Poland I was busy getting ready for my trip back to the United States. I cleaned my parent’s house, shopped for a few gifts, made quick visits to friends and cousins who supported me during my stay, and spent the last few hours with Mom. She was very fragile that day. We remained in her room most of the day so that she could rest on her bed. It was getting late and close to the time for me to sleep before my early flight the next morning. I convinced my Mom to walk with me to the sitting room where she could drink tea and chat with other residents. I wanted her last memory to be a happy one surrounded by people and feeling safe. I sat with her for a bit longer holding her hands and telling her how much I loved her. I wanted this moment to last indefinitely. We were both used to me leaving, but we always knew I was going to come again. But there was something different about this time that I couldn’t quite explain. As I was saying goodbye, I wanted to remember the touch of my mom’s hands, her soft cheek when I kissed her, and her fragile voice saying, “you need to go so you don’t miss your flight.” I told her I was going to be back again soon and she needed to wait for me and take good care of herself. She smiled, but somehow, we both had a feeling that the next time wasn’t going to be soon enough.
My flight back to Denver had a stop in Frankfurt. One of the world’s busiest airports was unusually quiet, with fewer people than even 10 days ago when I was there on my way to Poland. The process of boarding the plane, often hectic for international flights, was smooth and quick, and the plane was half-filled.
A few days after I got home, the WHO declared the Coronavirus a global pandemic. Poland closed its borders, the United States, along with many other countries, put travel restrictions in place, ordered people to quarantine, and announced mandatory social distancing. A week later my mom developed a lung infection that required hospitalization. Her condition was serious, but she fought on even after she developed another infection. My siblings and I were encouraged after the coronavirus test came back negative and the antibiotics started working.
After two weeks of hospitalization, my mom was released to go back to the senior-living facility. She recovered from the infections, but her body was worn out from other debilitating chronic conditions, medications, and life-long challenges. She was slowly drifting away without knowing when my siblings and I would come and visit her again. And when my phone rang in the middle of the night, I knew she couldn’t wait any longer.
My mom was a hero. She lived through the trauma of the Second World War, Soviet oppression and the communist regime, and the challenges of creating a free country after the Solidarity movement and the collapse of the communist party. She raised four children and blessed them as they all left to pursue the American dream; she swaddled her grandchildren after they were born, taught them about their heritage, and showed them a love for Polish food. She took her last breath quietly with no loved one by her side during the dark days of the Covid-19 global pandemic, which the rest of us might remember as social isolation, travel restrictions, homemade face masks, fear, and uncertainty. And some of us will remember painful moments like losing someone close to our hearts and not being able to do anything about it, not even to say goodbye.
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