Arrivals

Ev and Bea. June 9, 2021.

I drove to the Go Station to pick someone up.

A normal errand, something I’d hardly think about, in other times. But yesterday, it felt strange and imbued with significance. Because—thanks to vaccinations—I was picking up my daughter’s friend.

My resident daughter, who hasn’t seen a friend close-up for almost a year.

Today, she turns 22.

Nothing has been as we expected, or planned—not for any of us. But living with Bea as Covid months have stretched to Covid years, has been a continuous reminder of things that have had to be surrendered—independent living; an archeological dig; hours backstage stage managing and directing; her entire fourth year of university labs, and lecture halls, and campus experiences; and the up-close connections with friends who’d meant so much to her. Yesterday at the Go Station, I watched her get some of that life back.

And it was glorious.

So was fitting an extra chair at the table, and boisterous conversation, and the music turned extra loud. The shush-shushing of a mattress being hauled upstairs. Even the pervasive smell of nail polish.

Later today, there will be turkey burgers and homemade fries and sticky toffee pudding, and presents entirely sourced from hardware stores (tools—that’s what she wanted), and we will do it up with the extra enthusiasm that has fuelled all the significant occasions in our house, since Covid began.

But I can’t imagine a celebration better than that moment of reunion at the Go Station.

A little taste of what I hope for her as this year unfolds. What I hope for all of us.