Yesterday my temperamental mobile flickered and the photo gallery emptied. When the reality of losing 9 months of photos crashed over me I told my kids bedtime would have a 10 minute delay, crept upstairs, curled up in bed and cried
I cried for so many things

I mostly cried for my dad, who died in October and it still hurts. I cried for all the people whose dads are ill right now, and they can’t have contact to make it bearable. I cried for my mum who is alone

I cried about my inability to parent my children without Zelda. I cried about my inability to achieve the work projects I thought this extra time would enable. I cried over the house falling into chaos and disrepair around us

I cried at having a 5yo who has a work headset and puts people on mute. I cried about my 8yo missing his football team. I cried about my 9yo’s scant interaction with friends. I cried about how many things we’ve blamed on the virus

I am privileged: I have a 5yo who gives the BEST hugs, 8yo who can make me laugh with a mere twitch of his mouth, 9yo who throws out amazing left-field questions & a husband who always has my back. We have resources, security and love

I’m alright now, but it’s ok not to be for however long those tears need