In the last few years, my life revolved entirely around the sickness and death of both of my parents, who died within one and a half years from one another. My dad passed away on January 14th of 2022 from cardiac arrest and my mom passed away on April 18th of 2023. Just three weeks before my dad died, she found out she had cancer. I am especially upset over how my mom was treated by the caretakers around her, with our very own doctor (GP) not taking her issues seriously and even removing care where he shouldn’t, causing immense stress on my mom (and myself, living with her 24/7) in her last weeks.
Life has been an absolute roller coaster for me since my decision to move to The Philippines in 2019. Up until that time, I had only lived with my parents. My dad’s condition – he had a stroke in 2009, suffered from diabetes and became increasingly more invalid – was my main reason not to move out. I remember saying to them, as they sat in the backyard enjoying the sun: What if something happens to you guys? They assured me it would be fine for me to move out for once and start my own life.
So I did. After spending two years packing up my stuff and mentally preparing myself to move, I left for The Philippines on November 7, 2019. I left Tommy with my parents figuring I’d come pick him up one day when the inevitable would have happened.
But the inevitable was closer than I thought. My dad was having some health issues once again, which made me nervous so I came back with my valid return ticket. Initially, things still seemed okay after all, so I started planning a new trip to The Philippines after two months. That’s when the lockdowns began and I had to cancel my plans.
Two months into the lockdown, my dad suffered a second stroke, 10 years after his first. I don’t know what happened in the hospital as we were not allowed to be there, but they sent him home a day later, worse than he came in. I am certain that if my boyfriend hadn’t convinced my brothers to help push for a second trip to the hospital, he would have died. After his second visit to the hospital, he was sent to a rehabilitation center to re-learn to walk and speak. Again, my mom was initially not allowed to come for a visit. One of the staff members even admitted to us that this rule was having a negative effect on their patients’ ability to recover. Every day, I biked with my mom to the rehabilitation center, where we visited dad outside, sitting in a wheelchair, from a two meter distance with a fence in between us. Also in the rain.
Fast forward, the rehabilitation center advised against taking dad home, but mom and ad had been inseparable for over 50 years and even though it was extremely hard for mom, she would not want anything more than to take care of dad. And so so she did. However, all of a sudden, mom started having some issues and a year later it would turn out she had a rare, incurable form of cancer. Dad died 3 weeks after her diagnoses. The ambulance people initially wanted to separate me and my mom inside the ambulance to tell us that the resuscitation attempts for the last two hours were unsuccessful. Mom in the back, me in the front, looking through a tiny window. My aunt was able to talk some sense into them to not separate mom and I for that life-changing moment.
Mom went through absolute hell grieving over the loss of her husband while dealing with her own reality at the same time.
After mom passed away, I had to move out of my childhood home, where I lived for 31 years. I was not allowed to continue renting it and was given 6 months to move out. I asked for assistance from a non-profit organization in my town that helps homeless people as well as people with financial problems, but I received no response.
Initially the plan was to move back to The Philippines, but as an important document arrived very late and we experienced another hick-up, we decided to first check out Eastern Europe. I had always wanted to see more of Europe anyway. So here I am in Bulgaria, with two cats, after having been technically homeless for 4 months.
And to be honest, although I am now living in an apartment with a long-term rental contract, it’s still difficult for me to deal with the situation. It still feels somewhat like I’m “homeless”, because I was not able to continue living in my childhood home.
But I understand that – no matter how it happens – you are “supposed” to bury your parents and start your own life at some point. So I will take this opportunity to start living my own life, and try to not constantly think back of how life once was, and what I had.
With a bit of luck – as well as hard work and dedication – new good times are still to come!