Death And Mourning In Times Of The Corona Virus

Maybe it’s just me who’s dwelling on death today, as a photograph pops up on my screen, taken three years ago, before the unthinkable. One of my very best friends passed away and will never appear in another photograph. Technology and social media are our new memory keepers.

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With this scribbling, I take responsibility for my thoughts and opinions. Butch and I know that death will befall us at some stage; the mystery of death has a morbid fascination for humankind, playing havoc with our minds and fragile hearts, even though we know it is inevitable. The Coronavirus rubs the grim reaper in our faces, reminding us of our shared vulnerability.

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Pollol and Vivien will be very familiar names if you know Butch at all. Many of his conversations are liberally sprinkled with their names. If he could choose, I’m sure he’d say they were the two men he admired most. In his formative years, they were his heroes, men he emulated. Both were a few years older and often took him under their wing, showing him the ropes. Vivien was quite the eccentric, while Pollol had a soft kindness and an open house for anyone, a truly good Samaritan. Both men had very strong opinions and matchless character traits.

To Butch, during his coming of age, the two brothers-in-law embodied virile masculinity. Viv, the more worldly man about town, was well travelled. From him, the older of the two, he picked up one-liners, roused a spirit of adventure, and grew more confident in a devil-may-care way. Pollol nurtured a love of the bush, hunting and fishing at St Lucia, adventuring into Botswana, and sleeping on the beaches of Kosi Bay and Sodwana Bay on the Natal north coast. From both, he honed his skills as a raconteur and jester.

On the farm in Pongola, Butch learned to drive, date, dance and enjoy a beer. I think it was under Pollol's watchful eye that he experienced "first love". The lifestyle of the local young farmers appealed to him, but from Vivien he learned about business, the share market and how to party hard. They were both balanced, fun-loving, ambitious and generous with their time and their family Volvos.

The families rarely went a year without getting together, and the clan always attended every celebration, unreservedly partaking in the festivities. Of course, there were also painful times when every member of this large family supported one another in whatever way was necessary. “A family who laughs and cries together stays together” is their motto, emphasising the comfort found in shared memories and support.

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All around us, whispers of death and suffering were flaring up. Our Covid19 numbers were rising rapidly, and many residents of retirement villages and homes for older people were passing away. So far, we’d been spared that. Still, we were noticing a growing resilience to announcements of death, and I remember the passage from 1 Corinthians 15:55: “O death, where is your victory? O death where is your sting?” as the small tsunamis hit us intermittently. Sharing these personal moments can help others feel less alone in their grief and find solace in shared understanding.

The telephone call came one evening while we were enjoying sundowners on the patio. Vivien had passed away from pneumonia. However, not altogether unexpectedly, the shock engulfed us. It took Butch a nanosecond to realise he couldn't console his darling sister, Mem, in person. There were restrictions, travel bans, and quotas on attending funerals, and she would be at risk of infection.  

“There is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” - Winnie the Pooh said. Maryanne would agree. She is a practical, no-nonsense, wise woman who speaks her mind. Life has dealt her blows that would’ve crippled you and me. She's a survivor and a lady not to be trifled with!

The funeral, she said, would be a small, private occasion attended by their children and grandchildren. She would mourn quietly, with her best friend Shirley nearby. All the practicalities of death were handled in a new Covid way, with limited attendance, social distancing, and virtual condolences. She was prepared for the emotional roller coaster, which many of us have also faced, prompting reflection on how we adapt to grief in these times.

Butch would phone regularly to catch up, but these calls didn’t fill the void. He needed her physical presence to gauge how she was doing. We were detached, and at times the situation felt surreal, almost dreamlike.

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Pollol’s death was an unexpected blow to the solar plexus. I saw it in Butch’s eyes as the penny dropped. Within a couple of months, death had taken the two most important influences in his life. His foundations were shaking. 

As Kahlil Gibran said, “When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

Once again, COVID restrictions were in place. Pollol would understand if we didn’t attend his funeral on Magudu Mountain, where he was laid to rest next to his parents, his beloved son Pierre, and Butch’s parents. Lolli said his friends from the district and her family would celebrate his life joyously – as he wished. Butch agreed. 

Fortunately, we could travel later and promised to make a round trip to visit both his sisters. He needed it.

We arrived at the Biggy Best cottages in Howick that afternoon, checked in, and immediately set off to see Maryanne. We’d hardly set the handbrake when the siblings were in each other’s arms. They needed this moment of physical contact. Although thin, Maryanne was in good spirits, and Butch was overjoyed. They reminisced, laughed, cried, and came to terms with their loss. The three of us celebrated the years we knew Viv and once again hooted at his antics, adventures, and misadventures.

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Shirley joined us for lunch in the village, and we walked around the Amber Valley estate, marvelling at the zebra and other buck grazing in the residents’ magnificent gardens. After our explorations and many questions, Butch felt satisfied that his sister would be in a good place now that she was alone.

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Sadly, time was limited, so we only managed a short visit, but we promised to make it up to you.

Biggie Best, where we camped, isn't a designated campsite, but the owners were happy to put us up for two nights. The large property houses a guesthouse, cottages and a restaurant. We camped under some magnificent trees, where monkeys played. We had an electrical connection and could fill up with water too. We had access to ablutions.

Before we left Howick, we visited the Howick Falls and mooched around there before setting out on the next leg of our trip. I would really like to return; there's so much to explore.

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It’s the second quarter of 2021; COVID-19 is still with us for the foreseeable future. Signs show infections have dropped. We have been warned that a third wave is ready to hit as winter approaches. We will wait it out.

In January, I started making a list, in an attempt not to forget, of the people I knew firsthand who’d succumbed to the disease; 14 by the 14th, and by the end of March, at least 23 acquaintances had died. Three not from Covid.

We are becoming anaesthetised to trauma, and it worries me that death, unless one is directly affected, has lost its frightening sting. We move on. The lonely figure of Queen Elizabeth, sitting in a pew at her husband’s funeral last week, stoic in her unimaginable grief, seems to mirror how we’re all dealing with death.

I long for a time when we can mourn, rend our garments, shave our heads, display our anguish, stop the clocks and cover mirrors. Humans need comfort, and we need to comfort the bereaved physically, without our masks. Now it’s as if we’re meant to cage and lock our hearts, swallow our grief and simply soldier on. The words RIP, I send my condolences and “a new shining star in our firmament” are so glib and patronising. Are we equipped to deal with the aftermath? I doubt it.

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Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

By Dylan Thomas

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Feel No Guilt in Laughter, He’d Know How Much You Care

Author Unknown

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 https://www.biggybestcottages.co.za/