Shrinking Walls Part 2

The second part of the covid isolation story written as a therapy in January 2021.

Her daughter in law called her and made sure all the things they ordered arrived. Her breathless voice full of panic caused Anne a headache. Or it was the rain. In December.

“Thank you again, dear. I will send you another list next week. Go and get some rest. And say hi from me to the others,” Anne said.

“Rest? I can’t.” Her daughter in law laughed. “But we finished the kids’ homework. I have to look at my work email now. Everyone says hi as well.”

“Alright. Good luck with your job. Stay safe.” Anne smiled at the family pictures on the wall. The faces of her two sons, their wives, and five grandchildren did not move. She heard an echo of lively conversation. She had a feeling she saw light and dancing people in her hall again. But it was cold and dark there. The silence went on.

And the days went by. Dark, muddy, and lonely. Anne found herself crying after each phone call. Her neighbors were still in the hospital. Three other people from the street died.

The rain and death continued.

Christmas still kept her in the darkness and mud. A teacher from the village broke her leg on the morning ice. And got infected in the hospital. The village broadcast played three songs for her on the day of her lonely burial.

Anne rolled in bed and eyed the bleak horizon. It was the second Christmas day. The black fruit tree branches swung in the wind. She had no strength to move to soothe her aching stomach. Or reach for the painkillers for… everything that hurt.

Memories of her late husband and their little children under the Christmas tree paralyzed her. She had a feeling she heard her grandchildren run down in the hall.

But there was nothing and no one.
Anne did not move in the bed.

Her phone rang downstairs. Hissing and limping, she got to it.

“Mum? We’re outside. Can you come out?”

Anne almost fell as she rushed to greet her younger son. They were there. Her grandchildren, her daughter in law and her son smiling from the car.

“We got tested and we are fine. And we did not leave home for three weeks so let’s hope it’s safe. Can we come in?”

Anne covered her mouth and her vision blurred. The hugs never felt warmer.

In the hall, she realized how stale the air was. And she hadn’t cooked for days. And she needed a shower and clean clothes.

Her son and grandchildren brought and warmed up the whole Christmas dinner from the car. Her daughter in law cleaned the house a bit while Anne washed.

The kids even decorated fresh fir branches on the table.

They all looked tired. And burst in loud laughter or deep silence. Anne had no gifts. She just put some money into the envelopes. She teared up again.

“Grandma, next year will be better.” Letty hugged her.

“Mum, here is your gift. A new phone.” Her son took her shoulder as well. “And I made this manual for you. Look, this violet icon will allow us to see each other. This box here is the internet. It’s all set up. Don’t touch it. If there is trouble, we’ll try to come and fix it. Or solve it on the phone. Now, Letty will go upstairs and we will call her.”

They practiced. Her grandson asked for the garden cress seeds for a school project. And the day ran to the evening way too quickly. They stayed overnight. And then left her to the rain and loneliness again. But with the new phone and detailed, hand-written instructions to use it.

She received photos and calls from her family. She and her grandson planted the garden cress seeds in different pots and substrates. They sent each other reports every day. The small green leaves caught all of the weak winter light. She and her grandson tried different recipes from the fresh sprouts.

Anne breathed easier. The phone showed her things called web pages. Her relatives found time to explain over and over in tired voices. Anne adopted two old cats from a shelter thanks to the internet. She even managed to order food and a cat tree thanks to the internet.

Her grandson, Arthur, sent her a number of emails. His superordinate, some Dr. Fritz, went down with a cold but his covid test remained negative and they went on working in the marine office again. Anne did not understand the Latin names of some fish Arthur talked about. And he wrote also about some important scientific article for some journal. And he, like the rest of the family, insisted on Anne staying in her empty and silent house.

Snow covered the land. Her neighbors came back home. Weak and fragile. Hardly able to climb three stairs. But alive. Anne made them her egg and cress spread to welcome them. The fresh leaves managed to grow fast enough after they called her they were returning in a short time.

And Anne’s doctor called in January. The vaccination was ready for her.

She saw many scared faces in the hospital. Her heart raced as she saw figures in white protective suits. She shook.

What if someone’s infected here? Now, here. We can’t lose now.

Anne got home and went to the back garden and inhaled the clean cool air. A blackbird tilted its head and blinked with its yellow eye. Anne let the snowflakes caress her cheeks and breathed. The bird pecked at one of the wrinkled apples Anne left on the tree and flew away.

The sun shone among the snowing clouds. Her arm hurt. And she felt her temperature rising. But it was a pain of hope.