This Too Shall Pass

I think it’s fair to say we’ve reached the cheesed off phase of all this. We’ve put a brave face on, we’ve tried to see the positives, we’ve overextended ourselves to accommodate every emotion known to man, and now we’re all exhausted.

Pandemics, in general, are hard going, pandemics in January are a tough old slog. So lets take a collective moment to breathe. Go on, in through the nose and out through the mouth, drop your shoulders, relax your jaw, let a little of the tension go.

There’s a cumulative exhaustion from coping, hoping, moping and bearing up for the sake of others. Some days it feels like walking through soup. It’s as though we’re continually braced for something, we’re not sure what, maybe good news, maybe bad, probably just more of the same. Let’s not be too hard on ourselves, we’ve had 10 solid months of this and need a break. Maybe the darkest hour really is just before dawn, perhaps we’re on the brink of rebirth.

I’ve taken to daydreaming about all the things I’m missing. Grab your coat and come with me on a fantasy tour of some joys we may have forgotten but hopefully can savour again soon. In no particular order:

• Taking out the long stick with the hook on the top, to open the attic so I can take down the suitcases. Then trying to remember if mine is the one with the green ribbon around the handle or maybe it’s the blue one.
• Hugging a friend really tight, then stopping to look at one another and falling back in for another big hug.
• Being handed a menu as I take my seat around a table with friends. Glasses filled and knowing that a good night has begun.
• Taking an armful of clothes into a changing room to try them on, no matter that I might find nothing to suit me and the lighting won’t be flattering, just the freedom to play dress up will be lovely.
• Carrying a carton of popcorn in the crook of my elbow as I show my cinema ticket to the usher.
• Having to turn things down because I’ve something else on.
• Watching travel programmes and believing that I’ll see these places someday.
• Having the house to myself for a whole day.
• Opening every window in the house to its full capacity, to clear the stagnant air and revive the place.
• Playing the radio loud without people commenting on it.
• Having some news.
• Not having to start every conversation with ‘when this is all over, we’ll . . .’
• Conversations that start with ‘wait till I tell you’ or ‘come here till I tell you’ or ‘sit down there till I tell you’.
• Sitting under the Harry Clarke window in Bewleys having a coffee and a sticky bun with a friend.
• Holding a new baby and inhaling their delicious newborness.
• Going to Dunnes in Cornelscourt, where if rightly timed, you could get a full meal going around from samples of bread, to cheese, to freshly cooked steak, washed down with a thimble of wine.
• Browsing in card shops for nothing in particular until you find the perfect card and then holding it till the occasion comes around.
• Looking at make up in department stores and being invited to take a seat on the swirly chairs for a full make over.
• Walking into the foyer of a theatre and getting a programme before I take my seat for a big sparkly musical show.
• Hearing the announcement ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats, the performance is about to begin’.
• Seeing a bus go by with an advertisement on the side for a new show, play or film and getting a bubble of excitement. Especially if it’s a certain genre that I know one friend’s hubby can’t abide, and knowing I’ll get the call up to go to it with her.
• Visiting people.
• Being spontaneous again.
• Walking the dog not being the highlight of my day, and his.
• Eating a meal with someone other than my 3 cellmates.
• Going to a BBQ, salads, desserts, drinks, sunshine fading to evening and the chat in full flow.
• Giving my children lifts, anywhere, it will mean they’ll be leaving the house.
• Seeing my elderly neighbours back out living after an isolation that has stolen a big chunk of their precious latter years.
• Being asked by the Manchild if he can have a few friends over, 10, well 15, 20 max. Pretending to think about it and then saying yes. Then on the night seeing all the boys and girls call around and sing and laugh and remind we what it is to be young and bursting with life.
• A stroll through town with no agenda, just following my nose.
• Birthday celebrations.
• A day out.
• A night away.
• An unexpected surprise.
• A belly laugh.
• A hug.
• A quiet night in, by choice.

All these things will hopefully come back when we reach the other side of this. Despite the slow drip of hope, I’m choosing to believe it’s coming sooner rather than later. Like a kidney stone, this too will pass.