On Love and Loss In the Pandemic Era: My 2020 and Beyond

If there’s anything we as the human race can agree on, is that 2020 was the year that changed everything. Its seemingly endless barrage of bizarre events challenged every single one of us, whether we would like to admit it or not. The best way I can share a story about it is to share my own. If you’re the type who needs a trigger warning, let this be it. It’s not gonna look pretty. It is about 2020 and beyond, after all.

I’ve been meaning to and then constantly postponing writing this, as the thought of it would turn me off since I would start tearing up. I know everyone else has felt a rollercoaster of emotions, possibly even worse than mine at times, but that’s how I felt: not strong enough to even face my computer to type. The past year was excruciatingly difficult for me. I experienced loss several times in varying degrees that I’m honestly surprised I’ve made it this far while still keeping any sanity I have left.

I had previously written tiny bits of advice on how to cope with the pandemic, but oh what a difference even just a day makes. One moment I was celebrating New Year’s Day, another moment I was constantly worried not knowing if my boyfriend was even alive or not. One moment I was celebrating my birthday, another moment we had to rush home because a volcano had the potential to wipe out entire towns in my country. One moment I was the only one wearing masks going to the office, another moment I was temporarily jobless because I couldn’t get authorization to work from home. One moment I was a corporate slave, another moment I was endlessly playing Animal Crossing because I was jobless. And that was just the first three months of 2020.

Even though we were locked down and I was living alone, I found some sense of normalcy eventually. People at work were given the go signal to work remotely, so I was no longer worried about getting food on my table or paying rent. April and most of May saw me having video chats with my family (we were separated into three households) and my partner, as well as reconnecting with old friends, and also creating new (albeit online) friendships. Despite the crazy status of the world back then, I was able to still find a bunch of positive things and people. With the exception of not being able to go out, things actually felt okay.

Then, my mom got hospitalized for two months. It hurts to go into detail once more, even though I’ve barely touched the surface on my last post. My siblings and I all had permits and IDs to go and visit her at the hospital, but her case was serious enough to put her in intensive care. I can’t even begin to explain what it’s like seeing your mom through a fishbowl. She was asleep, but we would talk to her anyway from outside. We celebrated her and our late dad’s birthdays silently at home, because it’s all we could do. We had so much planned for when she recovered. We had so much planned even before that, because no one saw this coming, not this early at least.

By July, we’d been given what could only be described as a miracle. By all accounts, Mom shouldn’t have survived, but she did. She was awake for about two weeks and had been moved to a normal, private room. She was showing signs of recovery. Just my luck, my next-door neighbor at my apartment building got tested positive for COVID. As a precaution, I self-quarantined. It sucked that I barely saw mom during the times she was conscious, except mostly through the rare video call and a few visits where our time was limited.

By the time my quarantine was over, I had overslept and had inadvertently caused my sister and I to be late since she was tasked in picking me up. You know that thing called women’s intuition? My sister already had something telling her something wasn’t right. By the time we arrived at the hospital, they wouldn’t even let us step inside the hospital for reasons that to this day baffle me. It may be some weird twist of fate or what have you, but if they didn’t stall for what felt like forever and immediately allowed us inside, I would have seen my mom struggle and eventually take her last breath, and I honestly think I wouldn’t be able to handle that.

Mom was 77 years old when she passed away that bitter July morning. My sister and I came upstairs, and that was it. My first major loss of the year. My brother and other sister were already there, still calm and have seemingly accepted what had just happened. I did not feel it sink in until much, much later. I cried, but not as much as I thought I would. I hated myself for not crying enough. I hated myself for sleeping in. I always have trouble doing so, and yet the one time I do catch up was the reason I didn’t see her one last time when I had the chance.

Worst of all, I hated myself for seemingly being okay after the fact. Other than crying on occasion during mom’s wake and burial, my mind somehow got tricked into being functional. Everybody was sending me condolences, more than ever, and I think it’s because they saw me document the struggle for two months. Unlike our dad’s situation in which he passed the same day he got hospitalized, people I knew saw me beg for prayers, good vibes, and even donations in money, blood, and kind. I had been optimistic of mom’s recovery, updating close friends and my boyfriend as much as I could. Then all of a sudden she was gone, and the people connected to me on social media comforted me in whatever way they knew how.

I felt like a jerk, to be honest. Instead of sadness, I was mostly stoic, I was cracking jokes, I was going to work. I felt annoyed when there were already way too many people in a day sending their thoughts and messages; the sheer number of responses overwhelmed me, even though technically I should be (in a way) “used to it” as I’ve gone through it with dad a little over a year before. In a time of isolation and uncertainty, I did not want to connect with anybody but my close circle. Heck, sometimes I wouldn’t even tell my own siblings when I was feeling shitty about losing mom; unlike when dad passed and we all checked in with each other. Back then, I prayed every single night even though my faith was gone, because I was that desperate to heal from the pain of losing my dad. With mom, I felt guilty not doing so as often because it felt like an obligation rather than an actual conversation with a higher power. I compare the experiences of losing both parents because it turns out, even when you think you’re prepared for a loved one to leave this life because you’ve “experienced it before,” you will still never be ready enough. I guess in a way, this time with mom I dissociated and then tried to be sneaky about it.

Days, weeks, months went on. I was shockingly relatively okay in comparison to my siblings. Other than the aforementioned dissociation, I attribute part of my coping to the fact that, the day before mom’s passing I had adopted two kittens: mine and what was supposed to be my brother’s. Due to a sudden quarantine mandate, both ended up with me since transportation was once again restricted and my brother didn’t have any cat supplies. Taking care of two furry babies took up a lot of my time and energy, and in a twisted way that helped me carry on with life.

But as two new furry loves came into my life, I didn’t know I was about to experience another loss: my romantic relationship. The man I spent years together with and thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, the person who was there for me through both parents’ deaths, the one whom I was willing to uproot my life for… He and I were no longer on the same page. Cliché as it may be, we probably weren’t even reading the same book anymore. We decided it was best for the both of us to part ways, and I hated myself for mourning that loss daily for a few weeks because I didn’t cry that much for my own mother’s passing and subsequently also my uncle’s passing. I was gatekeeping my own grief.

I didn’t know how to act, but after crying my heart out for a while and just going through the motions, I finally tried meeting other people. Things happened quite fast that I quickly found myself in an unconventional relationship, one that would be short-lived, but became the key to my life turning around and realizing I am stronger than I give myself credit for. After a little over a month of getting to know this new man, he dumps me the day before my birthday(!) via – get this – Snapchat message. Of all the ways we could talk, I was dumped over a social media platform with disappearing messages. Hilariously, I was fine. Shocked by how quick and how bizarre things happened, but fine.

Okay, so when I said “unconventional,” I really meant “non-monogamous.” While were each other’s primary partners, he opened it up for me because he and I were physically apart. The irony here is that the other man I was consistently and seriously dating was also from afar. I swear I don’t seek them out, but alas, the world is simultaneously big and small and both persons happened to be miles away from me in the middle of a pandemic. I guess part of the reason I didn’t get fazed by Mr. 30-Day Money Back Guarantee dumping me is because I was slowly falling for the other person I’d been dating. That and the fact he blocked me and there was no way I could physically see him anymore to rekindle anything. Out of sight, out of his fucking mind.

Now, this other person and I are monogamous. He was my Christmas wish, my New Year’s kiss, my birthday date, my Valentine. He is my constant. He is a friend who’s been there for me for a while, and it finally turned into something more at a time when both of us were available and ready. For all the losses I experienced since the cursed year that was 2020 and hilariously continuing on into 2021, he is making it all worth it. What we have shouldn’t work, but it is. The truth is, he and I are probably gonna have a lot more challenges coming our way than we bargained for, but to hell with it. We only live once, nobody’s getting any younger, and if this pandemic taught me anything, it’s to take a chance when it presents itself. Will this work out? Nobody knows. But I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t at least fucking try.

It’s been over a year since the shittiest era known to today’s generations began. Nobody knows for sure when this will all end, or if we’re ever going to go back to the way it was at all. It’s been a mishmash of emotions for me, and some days are harder to deal with than others. However, with all the time that’s elapsed, I’ve at least learned to make the most of what’s in front of me. And the things that aren’t? I’m even hungrier when it comes to making them mine. Hopefully when I write another retrospective in the near future, I will have stuck to my word.

As for you reading this? While my past 16-ish months and yours may have had differing levels of good and bad, I sincerely hope it really is all uphill from here. And if not, may you have the same or even better kind of support system I’m lucky enough to have.

Peace, love, and light.