My lockdown love story has left me feeling lucky
celebration after 38 years of working in the NHS. My 60th birthday came and went.
I have worried about my daughter-in-law Ellie, an anaesthetist working in intensive care, and recognised the strain in her voice.
I have been unable to see my mum, and she didn’t get the 85th birthday celebration that she so deserved.
And I couldn’t give my daughter, Ruth, a hug when her 20-week pregnancy scan showed that her baby has a congenital heart defect.
But it was the anticipatory grief of not being able to see Sebastian, my two-year-old grandson, who lives within walking distance, that consumed me at the start of lockdown.
How would I cope without his cuddles?
Who would give me permission to be silly and play firefighters?
Would he think I was punishing him? How do you start to explain pandemic, virus and social distancing to a two-year-old?
A flash of inspiration, and I decided that I would write him a letter everyday, put it in a bag with a small present, and leave it on his doorstep.
I raided the emergency present box, and when he was in the bath, I walked down the road, and left the bag.
I was fairly certain that lockdown would be a lengthy affair and I couldn’t sustain a new toy everyday.
I didn’t want him to emerge from lockdown, not only hating me for rejecting him, but also having turned into the most spoiled child in the village.
So I knew that I was going to have to dig deep and be creative.
And then the next day when I went to make my delivery, there was already a bag on the doorstep, addressed to me, with a letter in it, and one of Sebastian’s artworks.
And ever since we have exchanged “I love you” bags. I honed my origami skills, and I’ve done things with toilet roll tubes to gladden the heart of any Blue Peter presenter.
Sebastian has produced paintings, paper decorations, flowers, the odd sock and a small lump of concrete.
And as the lockdown restrictions ease, we have been able to meet up outside. Sebastian has got a new vocabulary, which includes “nasty virus”, and he seems to think it lives in our house! We are trying to wean each other off the bags but it isn’t that easy.
Sebastian was the first to suggest we move on; we “don’t need to do letters now - we can talk.”
It’s just .... well... you know... there’s something so beautiful about seeing “I love you” written in black and white every day.