My father worked for a South African package delivery company. At the end of 2020, he told mum that he would not be able to visit us until COVID-19 was finished. My mother didn’t like that, but she knew it was to protect us. My dad sent me a song he played on his guitar on January 19, 2021, in the morning. I called him after I got it because he checked on us every evening. He sounded like he had flu when he answered the phone. I asked him about it and he said he had been suffering from flu for days, but he was improving.

That weekend we received a call and we were told that my dad had been taken to the hospital. The next day we called his cellphone on facetime. He was in an isolation room, lying on his bed, surrounded by cables, attached to a bunch of apparatus. He was receiving oxygen. We talked for like an hour then he said he loved us all so much, and that he would get well soon. We asked if they were treating him well if they gave him his hypertension medicine but what was coming next only God knew. He was then intubated and the nurses and doctors kept us updated until Friday when we received a phone call saying he’d passed away.

He was a hero of a particular kind; the sweetest! I was loved and protected by him. He sent me flowers for some birthdays and teddy bears for others, although I was old enough. I wished he could be less busy with his work; wished he could visit us more.

My superhero daddy, I’ll miss you.