When Cancer and Covid Took Her - But Not Her Hope

Published on July 21,2025

Category : Personal Reflections

Tags : grief, cancer, hope, personal story, dreams, healing, resilience

I still vividly remember the day my aunt died — especially the hours before she did.

It has haunted me for years.

She had breast cancer and was undergoing the last rounds of chemotherapy when she contracted Covid-19. She lived alone for four months in a special hospital for cancer-Covid patients, until the virus destroyed what was left of her immune system. The cancer — well, it was never really gone. It had already spread everywhere.

After she passed, everyone around me was devastated, mourning her for months. I, on the other hand, was just numb — paused — and couldn’t believe she was gone.

And at the same time, I had never felt more grateful to God for ending her suffering when He did.

All those months in that hospital, even on the day she came back home to wait for death — after every doctor had given up — she still hoped.

And I hoped with her.

Through it all, I refused to say goodbye. I told myself there was no need. She would come back. She’d get better. But then I overheard my mother and grandmother talking. They said she had only weeks, maybe months left. That’s when I knew — it was time to stop hoping.

Even the best hospital in the country had failed to offer any reason to hope.

A few hours before she died, I made up my mind: I was going to her place. I neded to see her. One last time.

But the plan changed. My mother stopped me.

“Just stay today,” she said. “Go another day. There’s plenty of time.”

Why? I don’t know. And I never asked. Never had the courage to.

But she died that day.

For years after, I felt like a ghost. Functioning. Smiling. Pretending nothing was wrong.

But I wasn’t okay. I still am not. Maybe I never will be.

I’ve thought about it a lot — why this death, her death, struck me so hard.

People die. It’s part of life. I’ve always been realistic about that, even as a kid.

But her death? I was not okay with that.

Maybe it’s because the memories I have of her are hazy and incomplete.

Or maybe it’s because I clearly remember all the dreams she had for her life — dreams she never got to live, because cancer took her first.

I remember the hope in her eyes. I remember how she talked about the future.

That’s all I have of her. And honestly, that’s enough.

Now, when I think of those dreams and hopes, I see the beauty in them.

The courage it takes to dream — even when your body has given up.

Her mind was stronger than anything I’ve ever known. Like an unbreakable tree.

I don’t want to remember her through regret.

I don’t want to carry the weight of not saying goodbye.

That would be selfish.

I want to remember her for the hope she held. For the dreams she had.

For the purpose she gave me — the purpose of holding onto hope. Of dreaming anyway.

Now I understand why I never moved on from her death.

Because even if she died that day… she lives in me.

Through the hopes and dreams she passed on.

This article — and all the ones after this — are my way of spreading that hope.

My way of fulfilling the dreams she couldn’t.

My way of encouraging you to keep dreaming. And keep hoping.

Even if it feels impossible.

Sometimes, dreams do come true.

- Varnika

Coming Soon.....

I will be sharing more articles soon - diving into the science behind cancer, the genetics of disease, and how understanding it all can give us new ways to fight, to hope, and to heal.