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Dying alone, Italy’s virus victims leave double family toll Lives Lost: A man loved by many, a death at 80 alone in Rome
(32 minutes later)
ROME — The last time Roberto Giacomoni saw his 80-year-old father Enrico, he gently helped him up from bed, put his socks, shoes and jacket on, and walked him out to the paramedics who had come to take him to the hospital because he was having trouble breathing. ROME — Nothing in the way Enrico Giancomoni lived during his 80-plus years in Rome corresponded to the way he died: alone.
Two weeks later, from the confines of his own coronavirus quarantine, Giacomoni sits at his father’s desk and organizes the complicated bureaucracy to have his father’s body transported to the crematorium. He was a good person, Giancomoni’s son says, a man who took his responsibilities seriously but didn’t let the pressures of life make him unkind. He built a construction business that supported his sister’s family and his own. He hired 10 people when he had enough clients.
“It’s the helplessness. Helplessness not to be able to do anything,” Giacomoni, 50, said through tears on the final day of his quarantine. “He was there alone. He suffered alone. He died alone. And we couldn’t be with him.” In retirement, he found delight as his grandchildren’s attentive “nonno,” chatting with neighbors and shopkeepers during grocery runs and cooking with his wife. Then came the fever and stomach bug that led to trouble breathing and a call for an ambulance.
The coronavirus pandemic has claimed more victims in Italy than any other country, and more than 45,000 worldwide. But around the world, the virus is taking a double toll on the family members left standing, many of whom are either sick themselves or in preventive quarantine. Neither they nor the healthy get to say goodbye because their loved ones are isolated, often in intensive care, due to the contagion of COVID-19. He got dressed and to the door of his apartment with the help of his son, who tried to accompany him. The paramedics in protective suits stopped the son — an escort and hospital visits were prohibited in case his father had the virus. He died two weeks later.
“Everyone who has coronavirus is dying alone,” Giacomoni said. ___
Giacomoni and his mother, Giulia, were ordered to isolate themselves at their apartment in Rome’s Magliana neighborhood on March 16, the day Enrico’s fever and stomach bug turned into respiratory problems and he was taken by ambulance to Rome’s Gemelli hospital. EDITOR’S NOTE: This is part of an ongoing series of stories remembering people around the world who have died during the new coronavirus pandemic.
There, he tested positive for coronavivrus and was immediately admitted to the ICU. ___
“The first two or three days he was breathing with an oxygen mask, so we were able to see him via video calls,” Giacomoni recalled. “But then he took a turn for the worse.” Enrico Giancomoni was born the year Italy entered World War II. The worldwide pandemic that has drawn comparisons to the struggles of the war has claimed more lives in Italy than other country.
Enrico, who had survived a bout of lung cancer a decade ago, was sedated and intubated. The family, desperate for updates but unable to leave their home to even go grocery shopping, had to rely on the daily call from the ICU doctor. Italy reached that sad benchmark the same week as Enrico’s ambulance ride, positive test result, and March 16 placement in intensive care.
The final call came at 1:30 a.m. on March 30, with the news that Enrico had died a few minutes earlier. Giacomoni, who moved back home with his parents two years ago, didn’t wake his mother to tell her. He has yet to tell his children, Federico, 8 and Valerio, 3, who live with his ex-girlfriend. His wife and son were ordered to quarantine at home after confirmation of his infection. They were nearing the end of the 14 days when he died on March 30.
“I want to tell them in person,” he said in a Skype interview from his father’s desk, which is framed by photos of his grandchildren and is where Enrico used to play computer chess and do crossword puzzles. As he spoke, his mother listened and wept from across the room. The day after his father’s death, Roberto Giacomoni, 50, sat at the desk where his papa used to play computer chess and do crossword puzzles. While he worked to get the body of his father to a crematorium, his mother, Giulia, wept nearby. The couple had been married 55 years.
Giacomoni now is caring for his mother, who is herself recovering from the stomach flu, while trying to make final arrangements for his father’s remains, all from the confines of their apartment. Money is an issue: Enrico, who owned his own construction company, lived on a small pension, but had spent his life caring not only for his own family but his sister’s family as well. Enrico Giancomoni had been a steadfast provider, but money always was tight. He loved the sea, one of Italy’s riches, and took his family on excursions when he could. Buying their top floor, two-bedroom apartment in a working-class neighborhood in 1987 took sacrifices.
“He was always there for us. He made so many sacrifices for us,” Giacomoni said. In retirement, Enrico was finally able to enjoy himself: He picked up the grandchildren from school, did the grocery shopping and helped Giulia out around the house. Retirement came with a lung cancer diagnosis, but he had survived for a decade after surgery. Then the coronavirus hit.
“I walk around the house, and I see him in everything,” Giacomoni said. “Everything in the house speaks of him.” For the first few days after being hospitalized, the family could still see him and chat over video calls. But once he was put on a ventilator, the family had to rely on a single daily update from a busy doctor. The last call came at 1:30 a.m. on March 30.
Giacomoni takes solace at least in knowing that his father had been sedated for his final few days, and wasn’t conscious when he died. But he is haunted by the final time he saw him in person, March 16, when he helped him out of bed, got him dressed and promised to bring his personal things to the hospital the following day. Roberto Giacomoni is tormented by how his father went through the ordeal by himself. His mind often flicks back to the night his father was taken.
“He wasn’t expecting this,” Giacomoni said. “He was there hoping things would get better, and all I could do was tell him ‘Papa, be strong, you’ll see this will pass and will just become a memory.’ ” “Don’t worry, Papa, I’ll come tomorrow with your suitcase,” Roberto Giacomoni recalled telling his father. You’ll be OK. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“But his eyes were sad, in the sense that he obviously knew.” Should he have known he was saying goodbye? It’s a question he might struggle to answer until his children, ages 8 and 3, have reason to mourn for their father.
“He wasn’t expecting this,” Roberto Giacomoni said. “He was there hoping things would get better, and all I could do was tell him, ‘Papa, be strong. You’ll see, this will pass and will just become a memory.’”
“But his eyes were sad, in the sense that he obviously knew,” he added.
______
Associated Press writer Nicole Winfield contributed.Associated Press writer Nicole Winfield contributed.
Copyright 2020 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without permission.Copyright 2020 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without permission.