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Last Sunday, on Easter, my father died after a five-year battle with cancer. He was 76.
Under normal circumstances, we would have had a three- or five-day wake and many of my parents’ friends and relatives would have come to pay their respects to him.
But with Covid-19, these are not normal times. In the end, we had only a two-day, one-night wake and he was cremated last Tuesday.
The night he died, the funeral director told us we would not be given many tables and chairs because only 10 people would be allowed at any one time.
We were supplied forms for mourners to write down their particulars for contact tracing purposes. There was even a column for their temperature.
It has been tough on my mother, 73, to lose her husband of 52 years and she wanted to mourn him properly.
Like having their friends from church, line dancing circle and our many relatives say goodbye to him. But the virus robbed her, my sister and I, of all that.
My mother wanted family and friends to celebrate his life with a dinner after his cremation. Just like how her family did when her mother died 15 years ago.
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