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Submitted by PatientsEngage on 6 August 2020

Usha Jesudasan, who is affected by polio, diabetes and breast cancer and is an author of many self-help and inspirational books, rationalises how Covid which so destroyed her with the fear of dying alone, actually taught her how to live better.

Death is no stranger to me. One balmy afternoon in February 1997, I sat holding my husband Kumar’s hand, as he slipped peacefully away from this world. It was his desire to die in our bed, with our three young children, his best friends and close family gathered around him. The room was large and airy. The windows were open and streaks of sunlight filtered through lacy white curtains. There were fresh peach coloured lilies and bright yellow chrysanthemums from the garden in my beautiful crystal vases. As his end approached, we sang the hymn in shaky voices.

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.

A year later, my father also died, but in a grim hospital room with bleeping machines. He wanted it this way with only me beside him. A few years later my mother also passed away, surrounded by children, grandchildren and her great grandson. All of us sat on her bed, like we had done many times in the past - We laughed at happy memories, cried a little and told her how much we loved her. There were last minute instructions and blessings and kisses. She was specific in her instructions about her death - no weeping, no singing, no fussing. Just a small prayer which she wanted me to say after she was gone.

I have always imagined my own death to be like my mother’s - surrounded by my children and grandchildren; a little laughter, some tears, a final blessing and kiss for each of my children. Ours is not a singing family, but I was sure they would play my favourite songs as I drifted from this world to the next. Peace, Love, Faith would accompany me.

One evening, as I sat alone, looking into the dancing flames of my evening candles, I suddenly realized, “It’s not going to happen this way. Not if I get COVID 19.” That shocked me so much. I sat there paralyzed with fear. “I do not want to die alone in a hospital bed,” I said to myself. Something I was actually looking forward to could happen in not the way I imagined or wanted at all.

Worried about dying alone

COVID has crept into every aspect of our lives and turned it upside down. With all the comorbidities I have, I know that if I get the virus, my life would end quickly. I would be alone, perhaps in an ICU connected to multiple machines. Every day, I read about people dying alone. Lonely funerals with just 5 people present. COVID has trod heavily and even stamped out the way we prepare the dead and the final respect that is given to the earthly body. In the Christian tradition to which I belong, it has demolished the sacred funeral service in church with a congregation singing time honoured hymns. Eulogies from loved ones, comforting verses read from The Bible, a sermon to give hope to those left behind, the placing of flowers and a final goodbye is what holds families together after the death of a loved one. Take this away and what is left? The emptiness of loss.

Preparing for Covid death

The thought of losing all of this to COVID was really hard to accept. I shared my fears with one of my children. There was silence. “Nothing will happen to you Ma, why are you brooding about something that may not happen?”

But it might, and I would like to be prepared for it,” I replied thinking I could have a meaningful conversation about my last days. Death, dying, the process of dying, how we want our end to be are not subjects anyone wants to talk about. I find this strange, as it is something we should talk about. And now, under COVID’s heavy boot, I find the need to talk about it and prepare for it even more.

 My children did not want to talk about it. Neither did my friends. “Why are you thinking so negatively?” they said. I felt even more alone. So I did the thing I do best – wrote it all down in my diary and tried to make sense of it.

The first thing I realized is that during COVID times, I do not have a choice in many things. If I am Covid positive and sick, I will need hospitalization. I will be isolated. I will die alone with, if I’m lucky, a compassionate doctor or nurse beside me. My children will not be at my bedside.

Working for a meaningful end

Given all this, how can I still have a meaningful end? I am not ready to give it all up to COVID. The story of the end actually begins now, while I’m still alive and still in control of my life. From being, “Poor thing, she died alone,” to, “What a life! She lived so well.” So how do I live well? I needed a closer relationship with peace, love and faith. Being at peace with my children, my family and my friends was on top of my list. I let go of little irritations that were buzzing around in my mind - I hate my sons’ beards!  Every conversation has, “Why don’t you shave and look nice!” Now I realized that in the large tapestry of my life, the beards didn’t really matter. What mattered was the time they took to call and chat whenever possible. The funny messages and photos of the past we sent each other. The last call at night to say,” I love you.” I made it a point to call my close friends every day. We swapped recipes, made pickles for each other, sent poems and songs of long ago. All of this made me feel good. I video-ed my brother in the UK almost every day. We reminisced a lot about our childhood and laughed a lot. I listened to all my favourite songs; tidied shelves, and reread specially loved books. I underlined meaningful passages, knowing that at some point my children would browse through them. Perhaps they would get to know me in a different way through this? I made a memory box for each of them and kept little gift wrapped surprises for them in these boxes, things that would make them laugh. I wrote each of them a letter, not knowing when they would read them.

One day, I found a cook book that my dad had given me on my 21st birthday – 45 years ago. I gave it to my daughter, Mallika, as I knew she would cherish it. Later that evening she brought me a beautifully baked gingerbread cake – using a recipe from the book. Gingerbread cake is a little complicated to make, but my favourite. I rarely make it as no one else likes it. I was so touched by this unexpected gesture of love and we hugged each other so hard for a long while.

I wander in the garden and look at the different shades of green after the rains. The evenings find me gazing at the moon and the stars which seem brighter now. I know I am in the presence of God. My life feels complete. COVID which so destroyed me with the fear of dying alone, actually taught me how to live better. Love, peace and faith are my closest companions now, and will be with me always.