So, the routine resumed. By Tuesday, the boys were still buzzing, on a high after meeting up with all of their buddies, but predictably tired and grumpy after the early morning shock to the system. By Wednesday, the dog had fallen out with us –blaming us for disturbing her morning beauty sleep as we unceremoniously bundled her out yet again into the rainy garden at 7.28am to perform her ablutions, before shutting her in the kitchen as we jumped into the car to head off on our laborious school run. By Thursday, as we sat in a queue for temporary traffic lights that had sprung up overnight, the windscreen wipers hypnotically swishing the rain away, the boys plugged into their devices ignoring me again –I longed for the lockdown lie-in. I’m never satisfied.
Being on my own in the house for the first time since this all began, was just strange. Although I have a huge backlog of work and a pile of to-do chores hanging over me, every ounce of energy I thought I had, has been sapped. Instead of jumping in grabbing new projects and work tasks by the balls; I pushed a few papers around and re-arranged my desk. Where was the elation I thought I would feel once I got my daytime routine back? The space I thought I craved was too big, the privacy I longed for just felt selfish and the house echoed with silence. And I realise what I was really missing, was the human touch.
For the first time in nearly a year, this week care-home residents have been allowed to have one regular indoor visitor, and although that visitor will have to take a test, wear a mask and gloves, hand holding finally will be permitted. Just think of that. Holding hands with a loved one. Something so simple - basic physical communication between two humans – denied over the last year to those who are the most vulnerable. The first reflex a baby has is to clench their little fists around your finger. Toddlers reach up for security grasping their parent’s hands as they steady their first steps. Primary school children hold hands in twos for queues, or parade around the playground hands locked with their best friends. Lovers idly caress fingers as they explore the newness of each other. The hand is there to stroke, care, soothe. Hands are held to comfort – to reassure, to heal, to cup. The beauty of the human touch. The kindness of a squeeze. I have written before about the smells I miss from friends’ perfume when I give them a kiss, or the familiarity of family when hugging my parents. This week it feels even more poignant. Is it because we are so, so near the time when we can do this again? Or is it because I have gotten used to having people here - day in, day out and now they are sharing their spaces with others?
Throughout the pandemic I have been lucky to have had my immediate family around for a quick hug, or a shoulder rub if I needed one. Just a couple of days on my own during the day this week made me realise how often I have taken human touch for granted – even if it is just smoothing down a rogue label sticking out of one of the boy’s T-shirts or my youngest standing back-to-back with me in the mirror, showing off he is now more than a head higher than me. I’ve craved the touch of others so much this week, I nearly broke ALL of the rules and pounced on a friend I hadn’t seen for months when we met for a walk. The temptation to reach out and embrace her, wet coats and all, was nearly too much and we both were lost in the moment of just smiling like idiots at each other instead. And that is how tactile old me feels - and I have been with people throughout all of this. Imagine being on your own, isolated; or in a care-home surrounded by strangers. Well-meaning care workers can’t replace the reassuring touch of someone who loves them. Foot rubs don’t work on yourself. I’ve tried.
Although I haven’t exactly jumped for joy this week, I am appreciating not making lunch. And there is a light flickering away in the background - I think it is just dawning on me that personally I am nearing the end of a very arduous mental journey. The anxiety I have dealt with in the past is gradually fading (albeit replaced with everyday woes and worries!) but certainly lessened as I have come to appreciate the little things in life. Although I haven’t made any inroads into all the books I was going to read, and I am yet to start on my meditative journey to become Mrs Zen; I look back and see some real personal triumphs for me over the last year. For someone who 18 months ago was so pent up with anxiety there were days my heart just didn’t stop palpitating with unknown fears; whose stomach was permanently knotted and throat so tight I thought I would choke; I’ve been able to take on a deadly world virus in my stride while keeping life’s balls a-juggling. Accepting that there are going to be days that are just pants and that’s OK - is one of the best things I have learnt. That, and enjoying simple pleasures like the touch of a loved one or a cuddle with my dog.
And with that – she hopped online and booked her first COVID jab. Bring it on, you beautiful future. I can’t wait to hold your hand again.
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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