TW: A visual description of death and grief
My grandpa passed away on Monday. I wrote about it. I was sad, but now I’m angry.
I didn’t ask how or where it happened the past three days because of everything that was going on. My father was in visible pain, it was not the right time to ask. But this morning, I asked my mum how it happened. And she said that he fell down and was unable to breathe. They tried to coax his breathing using his inhalers and nebulizers, but nothing was working. He was struggling to breathe around 10:00 AM IST, most likely earlier. They took him to the hospital. In the meantime, around 10:15 AM IST, my father received a message from my grandma saying that he had fallen down, couldn’t breathe, and was being taken to the hospital. That was the first my parents heard of this. My dad immediately sent a message to a group with all his siblings to inquire about it, but less than ten minutes later, around 10:30 AM IST, my uncle sent him a text saying that my grandfather’s heart stopped and he had died.
He must have fallen down maybe an hour earlier. I don’t know the exact timeline. But everyone who was in Mumbai knew. My uncle, my aunt, and my cousins. Everyone who was in that city knew that he had fallen down, knew the step-by-step of what was going on before he was taken to the hospital and likely knew that his heart stopped before my father did.
When my dad asked them why he didn’t know when they did, their answer to him was: “we forgot.”
And that fucking pisses me off. This was his son. Sure, he lives in another city, but my father deserved to know just as early as everyone else did. And this isn’t the first time it’s happened if my mom is right. There have been times in the past when my grandpa was in the hospital or something happened, and my dad was the last one to find out.
And it breaks my heart that this was the case because just this morning, my father was telling me how he had his deceased father’s head in his lap and how he gave him a few drops of water on his lips. My dad told me how at that moment, he couldn’t contain it, and he burst out crying over his father’s body. It angers me that he didn’t know until it was too late. He may not have been able to fly into Mumbai any earlier, but he deserved that knowledge.
I don’t know if my anger is justified because I can imagine that my grandpa was the first priority at the time. I know that. But how did every other family member in the city, who, just like my father, could be of no help, know before he did? And how has this happened before? It’s frustrating. I want to feel an ounce of understanding towards them, but all my empathy for them dried up the moment I found this out. Maybe that’s unjustified, I don’t know. All I know is my father deserved to know.