On December 3rd, a day that began like any other Sunday, I woke up late, had my morning coffee, and found Dad still asleep, which was unusual. Initially, I thought he might be unwell, so I let him rest a bit longer. As time passed, concern grew, and when we checked on him, we discovered he had passed away. The shock and disbelief were overwhelming. Frantic calls to neighbors, paramedics, and relatives ensued, trying to handle the sudden loss.
As night fell, heavy rain compounded our difficulties. With rising water levels, the planned cremation faced obstacles. Neighbors, however, stepped up, offering support and sustenance, despite our area facing power cuts and a lack of essentials. We managed to arrange for a vehicle, but the floodwaters rendered it inaccessible. It was a distressing time; despite seeking help from various sources, our options were limited.
Eventually, through the help of community leaders, we arranged a makeshift transport to a nearby location. Carrying Dad's body through the flooded waters was a heartbreaking necessity. We reached the cremation site but encountered further challenges—a locked gate and unexpected transportation for the rites.
The return journey was perilous, walking through rising water levels and rushing streams. Fear gripped me when I felt like I couldn't move, but the support of family and strangers helped us navigate the treacherous path. We found temporary shelter in a vehicle, enduring the night with limited provisions.
When the rain finally ceased on December 5th, we returned home after a long and unforgettable journey. The memories of that harrowing experience will forever remain with me, despite the short distance covered, the challenges made it an arduous ordeal.
