After the recession, my family split up and moved to different parts of the world. It was just me and Mam to deal with handing over the keys to our home. Those who were living in Canada, Australia and UK never endured that sensation, to drive by a home that’s no longer yours.

It left an indelible scar, with serious trust issues in things like buying an apartment in case you get led down the garden path. There are three reactions within the family; let’s not dwell, what exactly happened, and how can we fix this and move forward?

But Covid-19 is something of a Pandora’s box, digging into old wounds with more than a pinch of salt. It’s utter helplessness. Previously, talking about the bygone days helped. And it always did when the brothers reunited and enjoyed a breakfast in a diner somewhere in Toronto.

And while talking is still so important, a fear consumes us on different latitudes of the Earth. The fear that if one us even gets the virus, we will not be able to get the next flight wherever to be with them. The fear of a funeral somewhere within the family.

The fear of being as disconnected as some were when losing the home, that the loss of a loved one will seem like some virtual experience, that it never happened. Because we weren’t there. And if a funeral has to happen, it will be again myself and Mam at the coal face.

Despite the rather lugubrious nature of all this, we are all fine. Our dread has matured and helps us look after ourselves to look after each other. But please stay home, wash your hands, and limit your contact. It may save an international burden for one or hundreds of families.