When it rains look for rainbows….

I’ve struggled to find the words to write over the last few weeks, finding it incredibly difficult to make sense of what is happening in the world, battling with crippling anxiety, and worrying about those we love. I’ve found myself waking every morning with a lump in my throat, a dull ache in the pit of my stomach; lying awake each night allowing my thoughts to spiral out of control, that sense of fear and loss consuming me in the early hours.

I’ve spent the last three weeks struggling to contain my heartache at the loss of Lewis’s last term of high school, the cancellation of his GCSE’s, his leavers assembly, his prom. I’ve spent my days mourning the loss of the children’s school days, their love for their teachers, their friendships, and all of the moments they had looked forward to this year. I’ve felt every bit of disappointment at the loss of our travel plans, however self indulgent that may be, at the lost moments with our parents, our grandparents, the plans we had made with friends as we celebrate our milestone years.

I’ve been glued to the news and the media, reading story after story of families who have lost the ones they love, analysing one graph after another, pouring over charts and figures and statistics which leave me reeling with panic. And I have become so consumed by this sense of loss, allowing it to eat me up inside, that I have been blinkered to all we have gained. Because when we switch off the news, when we put down our phones, when we open our eyes to what’s right here in front of us, there are positives to be found in every situation.

And so whilst us grown ups are inevitably carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders, worrying about our families health, our finances, our careers, I am determined to make sure that our children remain blissfully unaware of such things. Because whilst I don’t profess to being the perfect parent, and whilst I can’t sit here and tell you that I haven’t lost the plot at least five hundred and sixty seven times over the last few weeks, just imagine how wonderful it would be if in one day, many years from now, our children could look back on 2020 and tell us they were some of the best days of their lives?

Imagine if they could remember a year we received the most precious gift of all – time. Time spent together with our families without the restrictions of school and work, time to just sit down together and talk without having to dash off somewhere or adhere to a strict timetable. Time with our children that we didn’t have to share with anybody else, when all of those wonderful moments and sayings and quirks were just ours to enjoy entirely.

Imagine if they could remember a year when the rule book went out of the window, when we stayed up way past bedtime, slept through breakfast, and stayed in our pyjamas the whole day long. When we took baths at three in the afternoon, or some days not at all, when we switched beds and had play room sleepovers, when we said yes far more than we said no.

A year when the sun seemed to shine every single morning, when we played outside, ate ice creams, had water fights, made dens and listened to the Frozen 2 soundtrack on repeat. A year we built obstacle courses and planted sunflowers, when we coloured with pavement chalks, dug for dinosaur bones, made daisy chains and hunted for Easter eggs in the garden.

A year when something as simple as an aeroplane flying over brought countless excitement, when waving to Nana and Grandad at the window was the highlight of our day. A year we’d ask “What’s for tea?”, and rustle up a concoction from our limited supplies with ingredients that should never have worked but, somehow, still did.

A year we looked up at the stars at night, visible for the first time in decades, and counted every single one; when the moon shone a little brighter, the air felt a little clearer, when the bats would swoop in and out of our garden much to our delight.

Imagine if they could remember a year when Mum’s and Dad’s across the country became teachers, when we read books and made up stories and did maths lessons straight from YouTube. When we learned about Ancient Egypt and South America, built famous landmarks from Lego blocks and junk models from empty toilet rolls and plastic bottles. A year we cast aside our work sheets and books and did something fun and a little bit silly instead, knowing that our happiness was infinitely more important than long division or compound adjectives.

A year we all painted rainbows and cellotaped them to our windows and doors, and how much fun it was to spot every single one of them on our daily walks. A year we waved and smiled at strangers as we passed in the street, when we would deliver groceries to neighbours we had never spoken to before, when every conversation ended with “Stay safe.” and “Take care”. The year the world just seemed that little bit kinder.

Imagine if they could remember a year where we clapped on Thursdays, stood out on the front drive in our pyjamas before bed, beating our hands together with pride and gratitude, our eyes filling with tears at the sound of cars beeping their horns, drums in the distance, that overwhelming feeling of hope and solidarity as we thanked every single one of our NHS workers.

A year we would walk, scoot or cycle each afternoon, hand in hand or side by side, just chatting about all of the things we would do when lock down is over. Sharing our hopes, our dreams, our plans for the future; knowing that this time won’t last forever, but making the most of it while it did.

A year we took the time to reconnect with others, finding time for long phone calls, FaceTime, taking part in virtual quizzes, games and online chats. When a five minute phone call with the Grandparents or a friend from school made such a huge different to our day, a much needed reminder that although we can’t physically be together, those bonds will never be broken.

A year we read more, baked more, played more, when teenage siblings put down their games consoles and joined us for a kick about in the garden. A year we played board games, completed puzzles, watched Disney movies back to back; the days we did a whole lot of nothing and it didn’t matter one bit.

A year we felt grateful for having a safe home to isolate in, for our gardens and the countryside on our doorsteps; a year we felt fiercely protective of our villages and our towns, when we valued our freedom more than ever before. Imagine if they could remember a year when we learned that in a world filled with consumerism and travel and always wanting more, everything we ever needed was right here in front of us this whole time?

And whilst I know that for many this isn’t possible – the key workers who we will never be able to thank enough, those on the front line who have worked so hard to allow us to stay safe at home, those mourning the loss of their loved ones taken too soon, the rest of us can try our absolute hardest not to allow this to defeat us. When all of this is over, let’s honour every single life lost by emerging from this a little wiser, a little kinder, a little more grateful for the days we spent at home. Let’s never take our loved ones for granted again, know the importance of every hug, every hello, and every goodbye. Let’s continue to take care of each other, to value our time together, to remember how important it is to just switch off sometimes, to relax and simply live right there in the moment.

And let’s never stop feeling grateful that amongst all of this chaos, at a time we were struggling the most, we still made sure that our children remembered these days not with fear or with sadness, but for all of the wonderful, the magical, and the mundane moments, each of which forever changed them for the better. And let’s live our whole damn lives knowing that it was down to the incredible work of our key workers and our NHS staff, many of whom lost their lives, which made this possible.

And just maybe, in years to come, 2020 won’t be remembered as the year we were lost, but perhaps the year when every single one of us was found.