Covid Casts A Long Shadow
Britain’s enquiry into the government’s response to Covid is finally over. I didn’t lose anyone to Covid but even so, I found the report upsetting and enraging. I try to be a person who practises forgiveness; forgetting is another matter altogether so seeing clips of Boris Johnson on the news this week has been triggering.
In many ways my memories of lockdown are good. The weather was glorious. I was able to go on long runs and illegally long walks, the water meadows, woods and hills being a mere jink through the churchyard away. There were other anxieties however.
The biggest of those concerned my sons. They are grownups, living a long way away but my fear that they might catch Covid and death was very real. I couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to hold them or kiss them any time soon. The thought was truly awful.
Then there was my husband who, as a recent chemotherapy patient, was classed as clinically vulnerable. How to shop? How to stay safe? As lockdown lifted this anxiety came more to the fore as it was hard to know what was safe and what wasn’t. The relief when the vaccines finally arrived was tremendous.
Finally there was Mutti, my mother. Aged 97 and suffering from dementia, window visits were hard. Even harder were the visits in the specially erected gazebo during the summer of 2020 because of the keep your distance rule. No hugs, no kisses- she found that immensely distressing. Then there was the Christmas lockdown and a mere three weeks after her 98th birthday she slipped away and I and my sisters each had what was called an end of life visit. We weren’t allowed to sit with her until she died, her grandsons weren’t allowed to say goodbye either. I had tried so hard to do the best for her over her final few years. When more restrictions were brought in during the autumn of 2020, limiting to two the total number of family members allowed visits to a care home I wrote to our Conservative MP asking if he could help because Mutti had three daughters and we all lived in the same town. How was I supposed to tell one of my siblings that they were no longer able to visit our mother? Given I was the person with legal responsibilities for Mutti, I could have ceded my access but if something happened that might need signatures or whatever, that would have been problematic. My MP told be that the rules were there for a reason and I just had to accept it.
And that brings me back to Boris Johnson and his wretched government. They had a very busy time in December 2020. The day before my mother died the Conservative Party HQ had, well, a party. On the day Mutti died, the guys at Downing Street had a jolly Christmas quiz. There were a number of other gatherings. The result of this is when it comes to this particular jolly band of people forgiveness is out of the question and I will never ever forget.
Obviously, there’s a poem Here:
Terms and Conditions Apply
I drive the mile to the care home/wait/
in the airlock of the vestibule/wait/
for the permission to come in/am required/
to provide a valid /reason
Access may be approved in the case of:
physician providing medical care
delivery of goods
essential service provider
patient end of life visit
Other reasons for requesting access are likely to be deemed invalid at this time
I indicate/my valid reason/it is accepted/ death/
its anticipation/are valid reasons for access/
You have requested and been approved for an end of life visit.
Please read and sign the terms and conditions below.
I understand that:
as an immediate family member I am allowed one visit
the visit may last up to one hour
the hour cannot be subdivided into shorter visits
Visits must be undertaken in full PPE
I sign/take /the proffered garments/
from the hatch/remove my face mask/
put on another/ pull a plastic apron/over my head/
fasten the ties around my waist/
I have prepared for this/ the clothes I am wearing now/
will have a hot wash later/ 60 degrees C/
I put on blue latex gloves/a full-face visor/
am deemed ready/ushered into where/my mother/
prepares herself/for death / quietly/ alone/
her eyes are closed/ mouth open/ her lips move /
in some silent/conversation/ I don’t know with whom/
I watch her breathe/ count the seconds/ between each
breath/ tell her how well she’s done/to live this long/
and still/be hungry for just another hour/ tell her /
that if she wants to/it’s fine to let go/ she can/
I lift my visor/ pull down my mask and/kiss her forehead/
which is not/strictly speaking/ allowed/ I no longer care/
for the terms and conditions/ and anyway/time is up/
Very powerful - brings it all back, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I think a lot of the problems we face now as a society go back to trying to blank out the memories. Fortunately I didn't have to care for anyone very elderly or vulnerable, but it was six months before I met my first grand-child, whose mother (my daughter) lived abroad.
As Merril says, this brings it all back; the shambolic madness of a dysfunctional government, led by a shambolic leader.
My mother, who was in a care home, died during the first lockdown. This did not affect me. I developed testicular cancer during one of the later lockdowns. I am still here.
However, in January 2021 I started writing poetry. It was, predictably, a lockdown sonnet. Good and bad, with good and bad in equal measure.
What did I learn: to exist in slow time. I still slightly recoil if offered a handshake. We are unclean creatures, yet it is also to our advantage that we adapt.
Fear, yes, fear; I cried when lockdown was announced.