"A la gran puta..."
Those would be last words that I heard from my stepfather right before he hung up on me a couple of weeks ago.
The next morning I got a call from mother crying to learn that he passed.
So what happened?
Back in December, my stepfather and mother both tested positive for Covid.
For the first week or so, my stepfather was doing fine until he was not.
Then he was hospitalized.
Mind you, my stepfather never understood slowing down.
So even hospitalized, he could not relax.
But about after a week or so in the hospital, he was released, but as he was being released, my mom was being admitted to the hospital.
He seemed to be doing okay until he got home.
Things went down hill fast.
I did not see him only because if someone in the family needed to tend my grandparents, it was going to be me. I already had Covid back in the summer.
But things got ugly and dicey as he was bed-ridden.
At that point it was not so much his physical health as much as a mental health that deteriorated. But as the mind goes, the body follows.
Long-story short, he had to be re-admitted to the hospital.
But the second time in the hospital was worse.
From being belligerent to delirious to kind in the matter of several different phone calls became something we had to get used to.
Eventually his mental state caught the attention of medical staff, and he was evaluated by a psychiatrist. But instead of having the psychiatrist speak to my mother, my stepfather FaceTime'd me to speak to the psychiatrist and pleaded that I tell her that he was fine. But he was not. I saw him, but something was off. And as the psychiatrist ran down the list of maniac behaviors, what I thought was just his personality, was probably mental health issue that he had for the longest time.
Again, trying to keep things short, but he was to be admitted to psychiatric hospital once he was cleared of now Covid-pneumonia. He grew restless and anxious as the days went, and would ask why the hospital was keeping him their if oxygen levels were fine.
Eventually the wait was too much for him and he escaped the hospital.
And mentally he was all over the place, that last call I had with him, he was short of breath and had a short fuse. He was desperately seeking some $20,000.00 to pay auto floor plan lender. I told him we did not have it, which was true. He got upset and hung up.
Those last few weeks with him were ugly. He was ugly with me, but I had to reconcile the fact that the man speaking to me was not the same man that I knew since the 8th grade.
For as ugly as he was with me, apparently, he in those delirious calls with other people he had nothing, but high praise for me.
But at the point it was not even about me, but it was also about my little sister and mother because they too were at the receiving end.
So what now?
I have been told to pray that his soul be at peace, which I have done and done repeatedly.
But on a very human level, the pain inflicted is not as sharp as it once was, but it lingers.
As far as Covid, the ugly truth, the way of my stepfather was living he was not long for this earth anymore. He was a 56-year old who thought he could neglect his health and live fast like a 26-year old. Between alcohol and creating self-induced stress and his own mental health, something was going to give sooner or later. We all knew it, but what we did not know is how bad or ugly it could get.
So again what now?
Find peace.
Find peace within yourself.
Whatever concept of God is, get close to him (or her).
Some of have said Covid was meant as opportunity for all us to get closer together and closer go God.
But have we and are we?
I do not know.
Because on the other hand, the only people we can save or help is ourselves, and lot of us are not even doing that, but we have convinced ourselves we can save one and another.