Quite a few of us are in our fifties and stay away from our parents. And whether we like it or not, we have braced ourselves for that midnight call from one of the parents. Happened last week. Friend called from the US – local time 0200 hrs. His mom had passed away. They are 4 siblings. One had predeceased her mom a few months ago. Two were in the US. And one was quarantined in Bangalore. His brother in law was alone handling things. Help needed.

Death makes us realize that we are not our bodies. After your death, everyone will refer to you as ‘the body’. But the body was a mere receptacle of ideas. The religiously inclined may want to refer to this collection of ideas as the atman. But moving back to more material things, had a quick bite and reached his place. Was in the middle of a containment zone – so all closed. Parked my scooter some distance away – and walked.

Another of our friends had already reached. The real worry was not about the dying, but about the living. Whilst his sister was alive, she was the primary caregiver. But after she died, things had changed. A full time attendant had been appointed – because the mother was too frail to help the father – who had been through a stroke a few years ago. The attendant had fallen sick – and had not been coming for the past few days. The first thought was about getting the 85 year old father into an assisted living facility. The second thought was to get another attendant in place.

We went with the second thought  – and by the end of the day, arrangements had been made to get nursing assistants in place by next morning. Handling your children does not really prepare you so much for handling your parent’s biological needs. I still remember very vividly my dad’s last night. He was feverish – and had to make constant trips to the toilet. At 2200 hrs, I made a quick trip to the neighbourhood chemist – and got some diapers. For the first time in my life, I put on a diaper on the guy who must have done the same to me many many more times. 

This dependence on others for your hygiene needs is something that I am sure would hurt any one’s self esteem. I remember an incident narrated by a doctor friend. His 84 year old mother, who was in reasonably good health, one day just stopped eating. She died 10 days later. But just before she died, she shared the reason for her fasting. She had not been able to control her bowels – and had passed motions in her petticoat. She decided that this was a signal that the end is near. And she decided that instead of leaving the decision on the Almighty, she would take it herself. Coming back to my dad, I never had to change his diaper again – he passed away the next day.

Another similarity with my dad was there. Both of them died suddenly. My dad was driving his car on the day before his death. He was busy following up with the electrician to repair a geyser. He was following up with the chemist for replenishing his stock of medicine. And before you could snap your fingers, he was gone. My friend’s mom had a similar story. She had just finished her bath and was getting ready for a trip to the doc – as she was suffering from some loose motions. And then she had a cardiac arrest. The end. Just like that. What was surreal was visiting the kitchen – and seeing stuff that had been half prepared. The washing machine which was still whirling her clothes. Reminded me of that scene from that cult movie- Sholay. The swing is creaking as Sanjeev Kumar walks in to find his dead family. Or probably, a sign that life goes on. Time stops only when motion stops. But motion does not – and so we, the living, carry on.   

One thing that rankles about old age is the inability to communicate. After his paralytic attack, the dad’s speech had started getting slurred. With 60 years of experience of living together, the mom could still understand what the dad wanted. But what about lesser mortals who remained now? The good part was that at least the one way communication channel was working. The dad could understand what you said. We could get him to do basic exercises. The food spills over onto his shirt when he eats, but then he can eat with his own hands, but . And voila, he actually managed to speak a word or two that I understood. 

My worry is more about his mental health. Having only nurses for company is not the best thing that can happen to you. I remember another of my friends, also based in the US, who had realised this problem. He had hired one lady whose only job was to stay at home – and talk to his mom. No cooking, no cleaning – just talking. We are social creatures. We need these conversations.

The mundane things of death needed to be gone through. The death certificate and PMC permission was arranged. Ambulances were mostly on Covid duty – and the PMC hearse vans were also not available. There was a BJS medical checkup camp happening in the lane. I walked up to the driver – and asked him for help. He first checked with me if the person was Covid positive. I assured her that the mother was as hale and hearty as hale and hearty could be till 4 hours ago. Thanks to the contacts of the driver, within 15 minutes an ambulance was there for her final journey. 

There were 8 of us who were there with her. One advice that I want to give myself based on this experience – we should avoid wearing jewellery after 75. The relatives in charge of your funeral will feel like grave diggers. Anyways, we put on a good sari for her. A yellow thread replaced the mangalsutra. Turmeric was applied. At Vaikunth, the priest had been arranged. After the last prayers, we put her on to a bamboo bed – and sent her into the electric furnace, the place that is going to be the end of the physical selves for most of us.