Today Shani would have been nine years old.
On a lovely day like this with the sun shining,
a clear blue sky,
the birds tweeting in the trees,
and all of us in corona lockdown,
the five of us would probably have had a birthday party in the garden
with lots of presents,
some silly games,
music from Frozen and Big Time Rush,
party hats,
some white ice cream and some pickles,
and as many as possible of Shani's friends and family joining us via zoom, house party or maybe just on an old fashioned facetime call.
Instead we cry.
We think of her radiant smile.
Her infectious giggles.
Her thumb-sucking, teddy-cuddling and telly-watching.
Her cuddles and kisses.
And we cry.
We watch videos of Shani dancing at parties (but only before all the guests arrived!),
cycling in our front garden,
taking part in nursery sports day,
playing and smiling on holiday.
And we laugh and we cry.
We think of what it would have been like to be nine year old Shani during the coronavirus.
How would she have coped with lockdown?
With not seeing her friends or teachers or family?
With not going to shul or school or anywhere?
With sitting on the sofa all day watching Despicable Me and Victorious?
(She'd be fine with the last bit!)
Would the community nurse still be able to visit every week to check her sats?
Would check ups, tests and minor procedures be postponed as GOSH priorities major surgery and coronavirus patients?
We think of what it would be like for us, and how scared we would have been at the thought of Shani contracting Covid-19, when she was so vulnerable and got out of breath so quickly anyway, and we think about the children like Shani who are in that situation right now.
And we feel helpless.
Helpless in the face of an invisible virus.
Helpless to protect others.
Helpless whilst we have room to spare and others do not.
Helpless whilst health professionals and supermarket workers basically risk their lives to keep us safe and keep the country fed.
And I cry.
Life at the moment is scary for so many people.
For those fragile heart children for whom life is a constant battle, it's now doubly hard: having to worry about isolation and a potentially deadly virus.
Or perhaps, are those families able to live with the extra risk, and carry on making the most of every day having already learned that every day and every moment is special?
Realizing that now is a time where we are forced to spend more time with our nearest and dearest and that maybe there's a small blessing in there somewhere?
And maybe for all of us, there's something in awakening the realization that many things that we take for granted in this crazy world aren't necessarily there for ever.
And that there are opportunities too in the new way of the world.
Being kind to neighbours.
Helping vulnerable strangers.
Reconnecting to friends and family.
Slowing down and appreciating nature.
As you can tell, I get very mixed up at the moment when thinking about Shani.
But whatever the risks and challenges, I'd give anything to see her again,
to hug her close,
to hear her chatting,
to read her a bedtime story,
to kiss her goodnight.
Happy birthday Shani.
Love you forever,
Daddy x
