When I searched for an image to use for this ‘2020 retrospective’ post I was amazed (and amused) by the number of pictures of vaccination syringes, masks, and other Covid-19 references. I did not want this post to be about Covid-19 – or at least, not the devastating effects of the pandemic, with which we are all too familiar.
What I wanted to write about was the silver lining in the Covid cloud, for me anyway (and I suspect, many others around the world.) 2020 turned out to be a bumper year of reading!
I have read at least 74 books this year. This includes hard copy, e-book and audiobook formats, adults and children’s books, fiction and non-fiction. I had signed up to three reading challenges, all of which I completed with ease: Aussie Author Challenge, Non-Fiction Challenge, and Australian Women Writers Challenge.
I read books from my local library (in e-book format while lockdown restrictions were in place); books gifted to me; books I reviewed for publishers; and books chosen for the book group I belong to.
My congratulations and thanks to the wonderful, talented authors, editors, publishers, illustrators, book designers, and booksellers who managed to keep the writing and reading show on the road during a tumultuous year. All of which brought great joy and solace to readers such as myself.
Let’s all look forward to more fabulous literary treats (and I hope, I better year in every respect) in 2021.
Justice. When we were kids, it was a ‘thing’ for Eddie and me. We would eye off each other’s scoops of ice cream, comparing. Eddie washed the dishes; I dried them. We were careful about dividing the last chocolate brownie evenly between us. Mum had a rule: one cuts, the other chooses. Maybe that’s where our unwavering commitment to equity between us came from.
So when Eddie received a shiny silver BMX bike for Christmas, the year he’d turned twelve and me ten, I looked from that marvel of a bike to my new cricket bat, and swallowed hard. I blinked back furious, stinging tears as I thanked Mum and Dad, and tried to pretend I was happy for my brother. Christmas Day was special. You weren’t meant to be angry or mean.
I sought consolation in the books and three packets of lollies from Aunty June and popped a green jube in my mouth—surreptitiously, because Christmas lunch was about to happen and Mum didn’t like us eating junk food until after.
I was silent through lunch. Even Dad noticed.
‘You’re quiet today, Hannah.’
Eddie gave me a sidelong glance. I shrugged.
After we’d washed up, Eddie said, ‘Wanna game of cricket?’
I nodded and went to fetch my new bat. On the back lawn we set up the bins as stumps. The sun was blistering, and I squinted in the yellow glare. Eddie prepared to bowl, but instead of watching the ball’s trajectory my eyes wandered to his new bike, propped against the Hills Hoist. The unfairness of it rose in a bitter flood. I made a wild swing as the ball zipped past and I missed it.
‘Can I join in?’ It was Aunty June, dashing out the back door towards us. ‘Am I too late? Didn’t want to miss the boat.’
She was grinning. Aunty June was fun, but my nod was grudging. She either ignored my sulkiness or didn’t notice it. She took up her fielding position by the shed.
Eddie bowled again, and this time I connected. My new bat made a loud thwack followed by a strangled sound from Eddie as he crumpled to the ground.
‘Eddie!’ shrieked Aunty June as she ran to him.
I stood frozen to the spot.
‘Hannah, go get your mum.’ Aunty June held her hanky to my brother’s face. The white cloth turned pink, then red, beneath her fingers.
I gave a start and ran into the house, yelling, ‘Mum! Eddie’s bleeding!’
Twenty minutes later, Eddie was prone on the sofa, an ice pack pressed to the side of his jaw. Aunty June’s hanky had been replaced by a thick pad to staunch the blood which still dribbled from the spaces where his two front teeth had been.
I sidled over to see.
‘Eddie, can I have a go at your bike?’
Eddie glared at me over the white pad.
I opened my bag of lollies and presented it to him.
‘Want a jube?’
This is the ninth in my occasional series I’m calling Travels with my Mother. If you’ve not read the first in the series, you might wish to have a look at that one as it gives the context behind these posts.
Recently, my mother’s aged care facility went once again into lockdown, due to rising cases of Covid19 infections in and around Sydney. It is a completely understandable and appropriate response, given the toll that this pandemic has wrought upon nursing homes in NSW and now Victoria. There is a great deal of discussion in the media and the aged care sector about how prepared facilities and the sector overall were for a pandemic of this type – the answer seems to be, not very.
I’m not addressing that debate here, but rather, reflecting on the impact of lockdown on residents, especially those like Mum who no longer have independent resources to draw on to keep boredom and loneliness at bay: TV, hobbies, reading, puzzles, or knitting, for example.
How must it feel to have been kept in the one place – for half a year, and counting? Apart from visits where she’s enjoyed a short time in the sunshine out in the residence courtyard, her room and the dining room have been her entire world since March.
Family bring snippets of the outside in to her, partly to explain why things have changed so much: why she is only allowed ‘window visits’ with family now, or brief (and fairly unsatisfactory) attempts to connect via Zoom or Facetime. For someone with sensory limitations, they are no substitute for a hug, a warm hand on hers, a hot coffee made with love and sipped outdoors while we chat and listen to the birds in the lavender bushes. But they are all we have and so they have to be enough, for now.
Mum has heard us speak so much about ‘the virus’ (and really, what else is there to talk about in this, the strangest of years?) that she does remember the gist of it. It’s why, for example, her beloved grandson has been reluctant to visit too often, for fear of inadvertently introducing it to her or other elderly residents in the nursing home. Why we are no longer able to wheel her to her favourite coffee shop to enjoy a cappuccino. Why staff are all wearing masks. Why our visits must all be pre-booked and of limited duration and now – for a while anyway – not real visits at all.
I am grateful that Mum has not been in one of the Covid affected facilities and we have not had to endure the heartbreak of knowing she is sick in isolation without a family member there beside her.
But I will be more grateful still when the pandemic begins to fade. It will, won’t it? Surely, one day, we will be able to visit our elderly family again and the wretchedness of this time will be an awful memory.
I am just sad that these months have been so difficult for elderly folk like my mother. When you only have a few years or months left to you, it seems a tragic waste to have to spend them like this.