21 April 2020
Yesterday was the second anniversary of Dad's death, but today is the anniversary of The Phonecall and it feels more like the ‘real’ one to me. That was early on a Saturday morning; it took until the Monday to be 100% sure that he was really dead and have any sort of proper - if still, forever, incomplete - idea what had happened.
I’ve found today hard. I did a short yoga flow this morning, which was lovely but made me weep. I struggled to concentrate on work all morning, and was ratty and irritable with Titch this afternoon (and then massively guilty for being so ratty and irritable...).
But there were also hugs, and laughs, and flourless orange cake.
I cut Himself's hair this evening; it doesn’t look awful.
I think we’re all having waves of finding the whole lockdown thing hard. Titch is missing school and his friends, and is struggling to find projects to lose himself in.
It's interesting how many of us are simultaneously craving contact and hunkering down. Friends talk of wanting to ‘escape’ the familiar walls and same faces, to see friends and shoot the breeze, but by the evening the idea of a (yet another) zoom call feels overwhelming and exhausting. We shifted our mid-week lovely-friends evening call to a morning coffee at the weekend it worked much better, though inevitably came with a small side order of ‘should be wrangling’ guilt.
It can be overwhelming just discussing Covid news the whole blasted time, because there is No Other News and no one is going anywhere, or doing anything that isn’t a blur of work-school-domestic juggling.
Leaving the house feels essential, and at the same time worrying. I fret while out and am glad to get home safe, but I also ache for a change of scene. Shopping trips are anxiety inducing; I often develop a psychosomatic sore throat for a few hours after a weekly trip to a shop.
I’ve never baked so much. If we could guarantee a supply of self raising flour and eggs it would be the perfect time for my ‘1 cake:52 ways’ project. Instead, Titch and I are on the third iteration of a flapjack recipe - perfection still eludes us but the ideal balance of chewy/crumbly/crispy goodness is getting closer.
How odd that Dad knows nothing of all this.
I’m so thankful that we weren’t in lockdown 2 years ago, and were still in the EU (oh, my heart). And my heart aches for those facing similar trials now, it doesn’t bear imagining.