Growing old may not always be fun, but you stay the same person and that’s what counts. Children, especially, get it.
I’ve always been very fond of my half-sister. So, when I heard she had been transferred to a care home my instinct was to go and visit her. I gave her a call and she told me she’d had no visitors yet. This was because of a 14-day quarantine period imposed owing to COVID restrictions. I told the girls about her and they wanted to go and see her too. They remembered her fondly from the last time they saw her at Christmas.
It was never going to be an easy trip with the girls in tow, given the strict regulations in place owing to COVID. The care home was a good 75-minute motorway drive from where we lived. None of us would be allowed to use the ‘facilities’ or enter inside the building. We would have our temperatures taken upon arrival, we’d have to wear masks and strict social distancing would be in place. We were also in the midst of a heatwave.
But I was determined to see her. DH would be working and the girls were excited to see her again. They had begun drawing pictures of rainbows, flowers and butterflies to go on her wall at the care home.
When I told my half-nephew I was planning to visit his mother, he questioned if it was wise to bring the girls with me, suggesting that I check with the care home. This comment puzzled me, but I didn’t like to press him. Was he worried they’d not respect the social distancing rules? Or that they’d be bored? Or that it would be complicated for me? I told him I thought his mum may enjoy seeing them, but I’d see what the care home said.
I contacted the care home to book the visit and they agreed it would be OK to bring my 5-year-old and 4-year-old along with me. I had to fill in three separate forms, one for each of us, to testify our health, and I got MiniM#1 to ‘sign’ her form and Mini#2 to ‘sign’ hers before scanning them back to the care home.
A couple of days before our visit I received a call from my half-sister, who expressed concern about the girls coming as she was worried it could distress them. Again, I was puzzled. She said that she didn’t want to girls to be upset by seeing very elderly people and was I sure I wanted to bring them.
I replied that from our point of view, the girls were really keen to see her and that I believed it to be important for children to meet people from all walks of life, and not to shield them from the elderly, because we all become old eventually. After all, she’s a person, not an age. She replied that she had changed, and may not be looking very glamorous and I ventured that if she felt at all uncomfortable from her own perspective about the girls seeing her, then she must say so, and I was absolutely OK not to bring them. She replied that she was fine for them to see her, and that I’m their mother so it was up to me, but her sons had expressed concerns that it could be distressing for them to see elderly people.
I hung up, dithering what to do. Was I putting my children in an awkward position? Was it her talking or her sons? Getting older is part of life and people are still the same people whatever their age. I feel particularly strongly about this point, as my beloved late father was a lot older than most fathers. He was 70 years old when I was born, hence my half-sister turning 85 next month.
I vividly remember, aged 14, being told by my mother that I didn’t need to continue to visit my father in the hospice if I didn’t want to. He was dying of cancer. Her suggestion felt like a bullet through the heart and I remember staring at her in complete and utter disbelief, my head unsuccessfully trying to make sense of the words I was hearing. Why on earth would I not want to carry on visiting my father, one of two people I loved more than anyone else on the entire planet, at a time when he needed us the most? My heart still squeezes when I recall this moment (of course never with any resentment towards my dear mother, she was only trying to protect me). Needless to say, I continued to visit him.
And today I paid his daughter a visit, with my two daughters, on the hottest day of the year. The journey to see her went fairly smoothly. The temperature gauge in the car nudged 36 degrees as I sped along the M25. The aircon was on full pelt, but it still felt hot and clammy in the car. Upon arrival MiniM#2 was a bit groggy after falling asleep in the car and was grumpy about having her mask put on.
We stood outside the main doors and the receptionist came out to take our temperatures. Mine was 39.5 degrees (!) I looked at her, horrified that our trip may have been in vain, and amazed it was such a high reading when I felt fine. She took it a couple of times more and it still read the same. We agreed it must be the heatwave. I asked her to take the girls’ temperature and they were both 36.7 degrees.
When mine had eventually edged down to 37.8 degrees she agreed my half-sister could come outside. She had gone up to her room to apply her lipstick. I thought she looked as lovely and as elegant as ever. The time flew by. We were only allowed 30 minutes, but the receptionist turned a blind eye to us staying almost 50 minutes. The girls were as good as gold (apart from MiniM#2 moaning that she wanted a biscuit for the last 10 minutes – I kept telling her she could have one in the car!).
I felt sad that my half-sister obviously wanted to hug us and invite us in and show us her room, but was not allowed because of the COVID restrictions. And she suggested letting the children play around with her frame but we had to tell her it wasn’t allowed either. She could at least look at the flowers we brought and the girls’ pictures, but she wasn’t allowed to touch them. The receptionist took them at the end of the visit and said they would be ‘sprayed down’. I hoped the colours wouldn’t run, and the flowers wouldn’t wilt.
I felt sad too when we had to go. The girls showed her how to give virtual hugs and said goodbye to her. She was sorry DH hadn’t come too, and asked to say ‘goodbye’ to him too. This sounded awfully poignant and I made up my mind to come back and see her again soon, hopefully with DH. My heart felt a bit squeezed as I waved goodbye to her. ‘Ahh it’s hard growing old,’ I said to the girls in the car. MiniM#1 looked at me, nonplussed. “Why?” she asked, puzzled.
And the fact she asked me that question made me extremely glad I had brought her along. And fully convinced it was completely the right thing to do. “Oh, I didn’t mean being old,” I corrected myself, “I meant having to deal with all the COVID restrictions.” She immediately looked less puzzled and nodded in agreement.
The trip back was less smooth. The heat and the journey had taken their toll on the girls. Poor MiniM#1 vomited profusely in the back of the car. Luckily, we were nearly back home and I opened all the windows. The clean-up job wasn’t pretty, but we agreed the trip was worth it. And she was fine later – gobbled up her fish fingers, peas and couscous for supper.
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Or at least we assume she did. We can’t be sure as the UK is not testing (except for the rich and famous of course.) And it took her to become seriously ill for me to take stock and ‘calm down’.
I’m still recovering from the shock of my 3-year-old falling seriously ill with what we’re told is likely to have been COVID-19 last week (more on that in a future post). To keep spirits up I’m trying to focus on some of the positives that this surreal pandemic has brought us:
If you’re also stuck at home self-isolating with little ones, here is a list of ideas of some of the things we’ve been doing to avoid going stir crazy:
What to do when the babysitter cancels last minute? I had planned a rare and long-awaited romantic meal out with DH at a local restaurant. I finally had him back this week, after five consecutive weeks (bar one week in the middle) of being overseas on business. I’ve been at home fighting bugs, dealing with the start of school and struggling with cramming my work into shorter days now school has begun.
Calamitous Mummy 