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A Letter to my Future Grandchildren

Dear Ones,

You will ask me stories about what it was like during the time of the virus, just as I asked my own grandparents about the war. I will tell you how at first I didn’t take it too seriously; none of us did. We listened, baffled, to the stories filtering in from China. But that felt so far removed from our safe lives here.

I will recount to you how the schools shut their doors, then the libraries closed, the shops; how one thing after another was cancelled like falling dominoes and how we took to our allotment where we dug our hands into the soil in a small patch of earth beneath the sky as empty trains rattled by.

I will tell you about the fear I sometimes felt, deep in the pit of my stomach, and how I had to limit myself to small snatches of news dripping its trail of awfulness around my home, not letting me escape.

I will shake my head at the memory of those days when I wanted to throttle my children, your parents – who fought and stormed up the stairs slamming doors – because I couldn’t stand to spend another minute with them, enclosed in an airless house.

But then I will also remember the times I wanted to hold them close, so close, and never let them go, the preciousness and fragility of life hitting me afresh.

I will smile as I tell you about how the bird song was clearer, because the cacophony of cars lessened, and how the emerging dawn chorus as spring erupted sounded more insistent and life-affirming than ever.

I will tell you how we all stood on our doorsteps at 8pm on Thursday nights and clapped until our hands were sore for those working in hospitals to save as many people as they could, tears pricking my eyes.

You will laugh as I recount how we bounded around the sitting room like crazed kangaroos and hopping bunnies, bashing into one another, as a man named Joe with bouncing curls issued exercise instructions from the laptop screen.

I’ll tell you how we all how we bought less, looking at what we already had with new eyes, and how music seeped back into the walls of our house as your parents played violin, flute and recorder together, their battles dropping away.

I will tell you how our presence in the world and our interactions shifted in a way from which there could be no return. And as the situation exposed the fractures in our interconnected web of being, we began to ask ourselves more and more: what kind of world do we want to make?

I will explain how, though we couldn’t be close to one another, we all found new ways to connect. And somehow people came together in ways they never had done before; that when we asked the lady at the supermarket checkout or the man delivering our parcels ’How are you?’ we really did want to know, maybe for the first time ever.

I’ll tell you, dear ones, that nothing was ever the same again after that; that there was a before and an after, and that the ‘after’ was infinitely richer and more deeply connected for those turbulent waters we waded through.

From your loving future grandmother

X

Rebecca Stonehill

4 replies
  1. Simone Pelizzoli
    Simone Pelizzoli says:

    Beautiful writing, I relate to all your observations, feelings and emotions , in this surreal moment. The monster invisible enemy that as taken us all by surprise in a flash. Libraries, restaurants and stadiums all shut! What’s going on??? I love how your family turn to their musical instruments in such moments, I am finding music so healing and descriptive writing and other people’s thoughts and words help me not to feel alone, as we know we are all in this together .

    Reply
    • Rebecca Stonehill
      Rebecca Stonehill says:

      Ah, thank you my love. I think of you often out there in Nairobi. Yes, you’re right – music and nurturing writing and nature, all so important right now. Bacci X

      Reply
  2. sustainablemum
    sustainablemum says:

    Such a beautiful post that echoes so much of what I too am feeling right now. Now that we have all been at home for a while I feel like we have become settled into a new life, one that has a different kind of hope. This time has made me realise how little time we actually spend at home, I need to think about why that is and whether I want that to change, as I also love all the things we do away from the house too. At least I have lots of time to think about this.

    Reply
    • Rebecca Stonehill
      Rebecca Stonehill says:

      Thanks so much, I’m really pleased it resonated. Yes, as well as being a difficult time in so many ways, it is also such an interesting time as this having to stay home brings up new opportunities and ways of looking at the world and interacting. I find it so hard thinking about all those for whom home is not a safe space, but I know that all I can do is send out my compassion to all those suffering, and volunteer in my local community over the phone.

      Reply

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