Covid#18 - Time to do my bit

Four years ago yesterday, my gran died.  She spent her last few months living in a care home with dementia.  Grampy had died four months earlier, just before Christmas, and until then they’d lived together in their own home, largely independently but with support too from family.  I only visited Gran once in the care home – the last time I saw her, a few weeks before she died – and it was funny, poignant and sad.  I was wonderfully lucky that until then, she had still been pretty lucid when I’d seen her, confusing me with my brother at times but still conversational and still good company.  Her condition deteriorated a great deal after Grampy died and when she last saw me, it was as if a thick fog separated us.  I’d baked cakes for her and naively expected her usual enthusiasm for them even though they were decidedly average, but she was suspicious of them and refused to eat one.  She’d spent the night camping in a tent on Dartmoor, she told me, and did I recognise the old man sat opposite us?  She was convinced he was her own father.  Sadly, this time she didn’t know who I was.  Nonetheless, I think she knew I was someone important to her; we held hands and there was a lifetime of recognition in that touch.  In fact, she never let go.

If Gran and Grampy were alive today, she’d be ninety-seven and he’d be ninety-four.  I miss them both, but I’m glad they’re not living through coronavirus.

Were they alive, they may well have been living in a care home, probably among those at highest risk of dying of Covid19.  We would have been desperately anxious for them and the thought of them isolated in a small room, shielded from the virus as best they could be, would have made us desperately sad.  I’ve tried to find words to describe how it would feel not to be able to visit them, have a cuppa with them, reassure and comfort them, and hold their hand; the fear that the inconsequential previous time we’d seen them could be the last time we saw them.  I can’t find the words. 

I’m reminded again of a woman on the television news, trying to talk to her confused father through the window pane of his care home, their hands touching only the cold glass, their kiss on the glazing and the tears she shed when they parted.  There are so many heart-breaking stories like this as we endure this pandemic, and many are worse.  Every day, bereaved family members tell of how a mother, father or grandparent passed away alone in hospital, comforted only by kind nurses; of the awfulness of final words spoken only over a telephone or through an intermediary medic; of grief exacerbated by not being able to give a final kiss or hold hands for one last time.  It’s utterly tragic.

If Gran and Grampy were in a care home now, we’d have enormous admiration and gratitude for the carers looking after them.  Remembering those who cared for Gran, we’d have confidence in their understanding and compassion and know they would do their utmost to stay cheery, setting aside their concerns and fears for their own safety and their own families.  We’d be worried for their safety though and frustrated by the lack of PPE available to them and the lack of testing in care homes.  They’d be our heroes alongside the doctors and nurses of the NHS.

This week ninety-nine year old Captain Tom Moore has captured the nation’s imaginations and hearts by raising £18million (and counting) for NHS charities by walking lengths of his garden.  NHS Charities Together has set a target of £100million to raise altogether; I predict they’ll smash it.  It’s a very worthy cause but it’s also highlighted the plight of the country’s other charities.  It was reported at the end of March that UK charities expected to lose a-third of their income over the next three months – approximately £4billion.  Charity shops have closed and major fundraising events like the London Marathon have been cancelled whilst demand for support from some charities has soared directly as a result of the pandemic.  Many charities have been left fearing for their future.  We’re all reminded of the importance of the work they do and how much, as a society, we rely on them.

I think it’s time to do my bit!  Organisers of mass-participation events like the London Marathon have launched the 2.6 Challenge and it’s a brilliant initiative.  To plug the gap in charitable donations left by coronavirus, the challenge is to raise money by doing something on the 2.6 theme on or from 26 April, which would have been the date of the London Marathon.  I’m setting myself the goal of walking 26,000 steps on 26 April, which – judging from the walks I usually take – will equate to around thirteen miles or a half-marathon.

The money I raise through my JustGiving page (https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/mrmikeparker) will go to the Alzheimer’s Society, to honour the amazing work of carers at this most challenging of times and in memory of my lovely Gran.