I Thought I Knew Tragedy

I thought I knew tragedy.

My father died only two months after being diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

I lost him two days before my son’s 1st birthday.

My mother lost her best friend after 44 years of marriage.

All of those who knew and loved my father lost him cruelly.

I thought all of it was tragic.

But, in the COVID-19 world we now inhabit, the circumstances of my father’s death were far from the tragedy we all see unfolding before us.

My father’s demise took place with his family by his side.

My father was able to share the last year of his life with his first grandchild.

My mother was able to care for the love of her life, and as she tended to him, begin the process of saying goodbye.

Our family and friends were also able to let my father know how much he meant to them.

My father did not die alone, gasping for breath.

My family and I were not separated from my father in his last moments.

Soon after his death, nurses let me spend a few last precious moments with his physical form. I cried inconsolably, but I was with my father.

I know pain.

I know loss.

I know grief.

But I do not know tragedy.

Tragedy is succumbing to a disease that isolates you from the world and those who define the significance of your life.

Tragedy is dying alone, each breath more painful than the last.

Tragedy is not being able to say goodbye.

I thought I knew tragedy.

But, mercifully, I do not.