What was lost:

25th of March, 2020. An excerpt from lockdown.

I’m home from an unexpected trip to the hospital and I feel fortunate. I only had to stay one night. No ventilator for me, I only have to endure my voice reduced to a whisper, muscle pain, and deep fatigue I can’t outsleep. I suspect what also moors me to my red sofa is not just sickness, but sadness. The first couple of days, I fall asleep a lot and find my gardening magazine is too heavy to hold. I still can’t cry. But I can read.

When I feel a little less weak, I devour three new Agatha Christie’s and relish in the satisfaction of being able to ignore this current world of unknowns in favour of seeing intricate puzzles perfectly resolved. It’s a thrill initially, but I soon grow weary of neat resolution. So, I return to all my favourite books from childhood.

I reread “Anne of Green Gables’’ in an afternoon and ponder the “sanctification of sorrow.” I return to “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.” by C.S Lewis. When I reach the chapter where Aslan transfigures a long winter into spring, I yearn for the same renewal.

In a third and final burst of nostalgia, I begin the first Harry Potter again. Like Harry, I find myself standing in front of the Mirror of Erised and daydreaming about a past that seems so far removed from the current reality. I ache for all that’s being lost and has been lost and feel guilty for longing for a vaccine for reasons that are entirely selfish. My eyes close and the book falls abandoned beside my sick -sofa as I let myself revel in a colourful kaleidoscope of reminiscences:

Steam rising from a takeaway coffee, the slap of wet feet on swimming pool tiles, tight embraces from friends, the hum of an orchestra warming up, the rustle of pages turning in my classroom as we read “To Kill a Mockingbird” together, the electricity of airports, singing in church, listening to bird song in the garden with my granny, being able to cry… these different, lost things collide in my head and build to a roar in my chest…
…until I too am pulled back to the present by Dumbledore’s gentle voice reminding me:

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”