‘ Hello, Bob, hello. It’s Chris, darling. Wake up, it’s Chris. I’ve come to see you. I ‘ve brought you presents; some cider, some chocolate Santa’s, videos of The Snowman, and some Disney films. ‘

‘It is 3rd December.’

‘It’s nearly Xmas, Bob’.  The first one without him at home, I think. I’ll be home, it’ll be just another day. I’m OK with it.

I haven’t seen Bob for a month. I have been very anxious.
It was the second Lockdown and his Care home was closed to even window visits. I tried to persuade them to let me keep coming – to have a window visit for 30 minutes weekly. It was my lifeline and Bob’s stimulation; to keep him going, to try to hold onto a fragment of me for his memory. I needed to see him. It helped me to be less anxious; to help me sleep, to keep the pain subsided,  that pervaded my chest. I pleaded that Covid could not jump through glass. The government guidance said window visits should still occur, but it didn’t matter. I wrote to the regional manager, even Matt Hancock. The great letter writer, that’s me  but mostly there was nothing, because the government guidance was just that – guidance.

Then the regional manager rang me to say that Covid was in the home and public health had advised them to be in lockdown. This was almost 2 weeks into the England lockdown. I asked him if it was in Bob’s building but he wasn’t specifically sure. That was Friday. On the Monday the nurse rang to say they were trying to swab Bob but he wasn’t having it. No, I thought, he wouldn’t take too kindly to having a stick pushed up his nose! By Thursday when the phone rang and I heard the words ‘duty to inform you ‘ I knew he’d got it. But the miracle was he had only mild symptoms. He has got over it. I think. 4 weeks without seeing him!

So now he is at the window. He is asleep in the Stirling chair lolling to one side. Coughing a little but mainly asleep. He is frail. His cheeks have that hollow look. I talk to him the whole time trying to stimulate some recognition. I say Joe sends a kiss and Eddie sends a kiss all the way from Australia. I tell him I love him and I talk about a load of nothing. He briefly opens his eyes and there is a brief recollection that I think he knows me. I stay the full 30 minutes under the big black umbrella because it is pouring rain and has been all day. My feet are cold and wet in my boots. I am stood in the garden looking into the window, bobbing up and down, trying to get to his eye level. The window is shut– he probably can’t hear me anyway, but I have to come.

I know in a month he has taken another dip but just seeing him peacefully sleeping gives me the contentment I need. It is very difficult. I asked about the rapid testing that the government said would be rolled out to care homes. The manager did not know about them. I said it’s been all over the news. I take a test. I get in PPE. The text comes back negative and I can see Bob. But no, there was no news on that in this care home. I am sure that this will not get to Lincolnshire anytime soon. Then there is the Covid outbreak in the home. Maybe that will make it even more difficult to get inside to see him at his room if he can’t get up. He was in bed for weeks whilst he was isolated and that comes with its own problems and risks. I just want to see him properly. To touch him. No touching since the 12 March. No hand holding, no hugs, no kisses.

I rang the GP – could she help me if he was end of life? Would I have more chance of seeing him properly, have a meaningful visit? I asked the care home when they considered end of life visiting. The last two days. The NHS nursing guidelines say it is  if a person is not expected to live a year. I now have a fight to be able to see Bob properly before the last two days.

The little tree is put up from the garden, we recycle it every year. It is decorated with all the baubles we collected over the last 40 years. Bob would want me to carry on the same and I am. Dr Joe is working nights including Christmas Eve and Eddie is still in Australia. I hope to see Bob, that would be lovely!