The hardest day of my life was when I called my 90-year-old mother to tell her that her son Johnny died of Covid on a ventilator. It was the day he originally was scheduled to come home from short term rehabilitation following surgery. I helped Johnny when he was in the hospital and in the rehab facility. There are no words for how heart wrenching this was for me to see my mother’s grief and despair. I had to be strong for her. Many rallied around my grieving mother and I was grateful. My grief was put aside and overlooked since I had to help my disabled mother who no longer had her caregiver, my brother. Johnny did not have a partner and I had so much to do to arrange everything one must do with the loss of a loved one. It was so challenging as it was the beginning of the Pandemic. So much was needed to be done to settle his affairs. It took a very long time to sort it all out.

Now my 95-year-old mother is in a nursing home and she has moderate dementia. She now thinks my brother is still alive. She asks me how he is doing and I carry out some benign fibbing. I go along with her that Johnny is still alive and well. I am relieved she does not suffer as she once did. Now, after 5 years, I feel like I can grieve without feeling guilty. I can start focusing more on myself. So much grief I delayed. I had to focus on my mother. She is still alive and at peace now. I am relieved. I now have to find my peace in all this. I hope I find it as I am trying. I believe I must really start this hard work.