My biological father died at 2:30 p.m. today.
He had COVID-19, and it turned into pneumonia.
They put him on a ventilator and gave him blood thinners.
A clot broke free and went to his brain.
At 3:30 p.m., a cousin on his side messaged me asking if I knew what was going on.
I told her my youngest half-sibling had been keeping me up to date.
I figured she thought I already knew, because she disappeared once I said I’d been kept in the loop.
By 5 p.m., I still hadn’t heard anything, so I messaged her and asked if he was gone.
That’s when she told me.
The youngest half-sibling didn’t post it on Facebook until 6:30.
I know they’re grieving, and they don’t see me as family, so it probably didn’t occur to them that I’d care whether he was alive or dead.
Still, I exist, and finding out on Facebook that my father died hurts.
The way I understand it, he raised his older two children himself, and their mother only had them on weekends.The younger two lived with their mother, but he kept his weekend visitation with them and showed up for it.
I am the only one he didn’t want.
I don’t feel anything.
I did my grieving growing up.
When all the other kids at school were bragging about how wonderful their dads were, I grieved.
When I asked him to walk me down the aisle and he ignored me, I grieved.
When I had each baby and told him he was a grandpa and he ignored me, I grieved.
When my half-siblings posted pictures of themselves and their kids with him, I grieved.
When I faced my mother’s illness and death alone, and he never once called to see if he could help, I grieved.
The person who died was a complete stranger.
Enough of that.
This was not a good day energy-wise.
I could barely get out of bed.
I think I’m going to have to schedule a doctor visit.
It’s possible COVID-19 has affected my hypothyroidism.
There was also a full week I didn’t take my medication because I was unconscious.
Cowboy slept all morning.
He can barely move without yelping in pain.
I don’t know how he’s working.
Badger and I watched TV most of the morning until we realized we were completely out of wet cat food.
We made a quick trip to the Dollar Store and lucked out
They had giant cans of wet food, and Badger grabbed everything they had.
One can should last Fox about a week.
By the time we got home, it was time for lunch.
Badger fixed pasta and I threw a baked potato in.
After Cowboy went to work, we sat and watched TV again.
I miss the old me.
I miss having energy.
Bedlam is back to his old self, at least.
I guess the anti-nausea shot and the probiotics did the trick.
I hate to think that the poor thing was nauseous for almost a week, and we just didn't notice.
I mean, it is absolutely no joke how wiped out Badger and I are.
We stay in bed more than we are on our feet or out and about.
The house is nasty, the litter boxes are nasty, and laundry is piling up.
The cats are a bit neglected.
We simply don’t have the energy to tackle anything.
I get so aggravated and frustrated at the mess.
I try, but I don’t have the energy.
I do well to get out of bed.
I’m not exaggerating.
COVID-19 knocked me for a loop.
There are some scary things still happening, other than the utter exhaustion.
Both of us are still losing weight, still coughing, and still nauseous.
I don’t know how I’m breathing at night, except Badger says I stop moving and just lie there like a corpse, but her breathing sounds a bit funky too.
We’re going into week four.
Most people in the support group said they didn’t start seeing improvement until week six, at least the unvaccinated ones.
No, I still don’t regret not being vaccinated, and I’m not going to be.