The following day, Ty and his family went to the hospital, but his parents were not allowed to enter further than the door.

“Here, I packed you some stuff that you will need,” Ty’s mother said. She hugged him, took off her mask, and tiptoed to kiss him on the forehead.

Ty’s father gave him a long hug, just like the one he had given him on his graduation day. It was a proud warm hug that said “I’m here no matter what”. His eyes were teary, and so were Ty’s. They then said their goodbyes, and Ty stepped into the hospital.

A lot had changed at the hospital at the time. Pre-bookings were done on one side, while walk-ins were done on the other. After filling in the forms, Ty waited on the icy bench, which reminded him of the dentists’ consulting room. The cold pierced through his navy blue Adidas tracksuit, and as he was waiting for a bed to become available, he checked his phone: October 08, 2020. Time: 06:20. Battery 32%.

Clinging to his black luggage, which he used to rest his head on his lap, Ty dozed off, and he was woken up at 11:30 when they had a bed for him. His body was weighing heavily on him. He told the person who attended to him that his legs were weak, and they brought him a wheelchair, and it was only when that person returned that he noticed the personal protective equipment (PPE). He wondered if the person was a doctor or a nurse, and if he they were male or female. He could not tell, and given his health at that moment, he did not have the strength to analyse the person.

Soon after, Ty was guided to his bed. He pushed his bag underneath the bed, lay down, closed his eyes, and let his body rest. He could not tell if it was night time already. A terrible headache was pounding in his head. He reached down to get his phone from his bag, so he gathered enough strength to pick up his bag and see what his mother had packed. His phone was in the side zip pocket. In the bag were a toiletry bag, underwear, some clothes, shower shoes, and his rainbow flag. When he saw it, he began to cry instantly.

Later that night, Ty managed to speak to his parents and older sister, and he thanked his mother for the flag. He had been given medication, and all he remembered about it was that the person dressed in PPE had told him they included antibiotics. At the end of his call, he looked at the bodies on the beds around him. There was an un-choreographed choir of coughs with a shortness of breath much similar to his was going on everywhere. There was not a single relative in sight, and it was very different from his last visit to the hospital at twenty-two when his appendix burst.

On Friday, October 9, Ty dreamed that he was in the ocean. In the dream, his feet were heavy, and he was being pulled to the bottom. With every muscle in his body, he paddled, trying to reach the surface for air, but he kept sinking deeper. Light was fading from above, and there was darkness at the bottom. He was afraid, breathless, and deafened by the water.

At that moment, Ty thought of Kevin. He wondered if that was what it is like for him to hear an echo from the bottom of the ocean. It was Beautiful. That evening, the doctors sedated Ty and intubated him. An hour later, he died.

***

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