Thursday 16 April

Day 32 and I am thinking of what it means to be alone.

I'm thinking of the girl, lying in the hospital bed in a nation that feels foreign to her. Unable to see the few people she knows because she is in isolation with suspected Covid. Far from home and family, only able to be in touch by FaceTime.

I'm thinking of the mom, at home with her three kids, the youngest of whom was only adopted into the family right before lockdown. Unable to access the support she needs for her newly expanded family, and isolated from those who would normally step in to help.

I'm thinking of the young couple, whose wedding was cancelled because of lockdown in their nation. Just moved into their new home and now unable to share with family and friends the joy of what should be a season of celebration.

I'm thinking of the young woman, looking forward to seeing her family for a shared vacation, which was then cancelled. Unable to enjoy the long-anticipated time of reconnection and relational support, and instead isolated alone in her home for 2 weeks.

I'm thinking of the single mom, recently divorced and at home with her only child. Unable to mark with her family the milestone of a marriage ended, or to grieve with them the loss of that for which everyone had hoped; the rescue of the relationship.

I'm thinking of the friend, living alone in her apartment, sitting down to have yet another meal for one. Unable to share this simple joy of good food with a friend, filling the empty air with the sound of yet another podcast or audio book for fear of the emptiness of the endless quiet.

I'm thinking of all those of us who have moments of feeling alone even though we live with others. Of the ways in which this physical isolation can trigger, sometimes, memories of other times of loneliness, of missing connection. Maybe during this time, we long to be more connected virtually than we actually are. Perhaps we hear of the ways others are connecting and feel we are missing out.

I reflect on this good, God-given drive to be connected, included, held by our communities. And I wonder if my longing for connection - and yours - could become a sort of prayer for us all. That we might all learn to play our part in the great web of mutuality that makes up human connection. That I wouldn't be afraid of the times when I need to receive from that supportive network, and neither would I be afraid of giving generously when I have the opportunity to offer support to others.

So yes, I stand on my balcony each night and applaud the medical services, looking left to exchange a nod and a few words with my neighbour, who probably doesn't even know my name. And I exchange messages, not only with people I know well, but even with those I have never met in person. Simply as a way of saying: we are in this together, we have common needs and shared longings for our world.

Could it be, then, that even when we feel most alone we are in fact held by a thousand hands? Those who picked the vegetables I eat, who delivered the mail that arrived, who emptied the trash I put out, who created the music I listen to, who drove the trucks to stock the grocery store at which I shop.

It's true, this is a lonely time. May you know then, my friend, that you are never truly alone.