We Can All Have Wings

It was a week before the official lockdown in England. My six year-old son, Bo Reef, fell ill with all the symptoms of Coronavirus. We locked down immediately and we have stayed home ever since. It has become our new norm. It has also become our education. 

Bo is the child I thought I would never have, after a ten-year journey that held a lot of tragedy and despair. He is my miracle. On the second week of his fever, I could see only the danger and the gravity of the situation as I held him in bed. He wanted breakfast, so we made him his favourite, before we cuddled up on the sofa. Bo looked up at me, zapped of energy and pale. He beamed, ‘You know, two amazing things have happened today, Mama. I woke up next to you in a lovely bed and then we had pancakes for breakfast. How good is that?!’ His words instantly drew me away from the fear I was feeling and into the beautiful simplicity of the moment. He had given me two reasons to be cheerful that I had completely overlooked. 

As lockdown progressed, Bo asked me what month it was. ‘It’s March,’ I replied, after stopping to think. I was already losing all concept of time... ‘I can’t believe it’s only nine months until Christmas,’ he gasped. ‘I’m sooooo excited!’ 

Too simplistic? Perhaps, but maybe simplicity is what we need right now. It has, in some ways, been forced upon us. We aren’t going out to coffee shops for posh coffees, we are baking bread, actually living in our house, surfing our home beach, appreciating where we live and reaching out to friends when they come into our minds. My husband works for the ethical brand Patagonia, so ‘live simply’ has always been our motto, but we didn’t realise how far from simplicity we really were. 

Bo is aware of the gravity of the situation we have all been facing. He talks to me daily about Coronavirus and asks people to keep their distance. ‘That’s not two metres!’ he says loudly if people pass too close when we walk, which makes me smile. He is not naively skipping through his days. Yet, as a child, he has the ability to look for the positive, the way the child in all of us perhaps used to do. I find this same trait in the man whose biography I am currently writing. He is an incredibly inspiring athlete who became paraplegic after an accident. He has faced one of life’s greatest challenges, yet talking to him is like therapy. He never fails to find the optimism. He has an almost childlike energy and enthusiasm for life that blows my mind. ‘It was close, but I’m still here,’ he says, ‘and I am going to be the best paraplegic I can possibly be....’ 

During lockdown, I have had times when this optimism has escaped me. I have desperately missed our dog Coco, who was my precious girl for almost fifteen years and who died in August after a real battle with cancer. She stayed longer than she probably should have, I think because she knew I needed her. Being in the house without her has amplified that loss. Coco carried us through moments of intense grief in the past with her unconditional love and her warm cuddles when we lost our baby girl, Lola Cove. She took us out walking. She always knew when I needed to sit at the top of the stairs with my face next to hers, stroking her, talking to her and breathing her in. She was often my salvation. Some of you may think, but she was just a dog. She was more than that. In emotional times, Coco was my constant. These are emotional times. 

I found this emotion heightened when big events happened during lockdown. Not quite ‘Two Weddings and a Funeral’, but we celebrated two birthdays in our house and the tragic funeral of a young friend. The funeral we could only attend via Facebook Live, yet somehow we all felt connected by an energy. We knew we were crying in unison, hundreds of us around the world feeling the same grief. Knowing that was uplifting, despite the darkness. We were still united. That energy is also present every morning during Qi Gong sessions with Mark on Instagram live. While we follow his movements that open our lungs, oil our weary joints and flood light into our hearts, we listen to his wisdom, all the time keeping one eye on the chat scrolling up the screen. We look out for the names that have become a familiar roll call in the mornings. We banter and welcome each other. Bo giggles when Mark swears and Mark apologises, which makes Bo smile even 

more. The chat grows louder and more interactive by the day, making me laugh at the thought of how noisy these classes would be were we all together. And yet we are all together. When I close my eyes and feel the ever-growing resistance of the chi between my palms, I am comforted by the thought that there is an energy connecting us all that I will never fully understand, but that I welcome with open, chi-heated palms. I have felt love from around the world in these sessions that has brought me so much comfort. I leave every session calm and complete, knowing that we are never truly alone. 

This is the same energy I feel when my boy is in the room. He glows with it and he shares it with me when mine is dwindling. ‘Mama, you look like you need a hug,’ he tells me, ‘and I don’t get hugs when I’m at school, so we should hug as much as we can now...’ I have never begrudged sleepless nights since having Bo, because I know how lucky I am to have him. I have looked on this lockdown as a rare chance to share every day with him and to experience precious moments we will never have again. 

One such moment was walking on the beach in bitter northerly winds and rain. The summer sun that has been kind to us all over recent weeks was a distant memory. We were back in a North East blast of winter. Bo unzipped his jacket. ‘You know, we walked just at the right time, Mama, because the wind is strongest, which means we can spread our wings and really fly....’ He put his hands in his jacket pockets, lifted it over his head and ‘flew’ down the beach whooping with delight. Bo has no doubt that we can all have wings. 

We have all had so much to deal with in the past few months. The world is in turbid waters. I look at my generation and those in power and I often despair. Yet, in the next moment, I look at the younger generations and I instantly feel hope. My latest book is for young children about ocean plastics. Little Turtle Turns The Tide was inspired by Bo who began initiating a beach clean at a surf event on a French beach one day and asked all the adults we were with to help him. He was three and a half and he physically moved pro surfers and Press to pick up plastics. They could not say no to him because they knew he was right. This made me realise how powerful the young voice can be. I wanted to write a book that would empower young children and show them that together they can make a difference. I met great resistance from the publishing world, questioning whether young children wanted to hear about something like this, which I felt condescended to their enquiring young minds. Listening to Bo, I knew they did want to hear, so I did not give up. He gave me the drive to continue. I found a like-minded, passionate, environmental publisher who wanted to bring the Little Turtle’s message to the world. Sharing this story with young children, even via online readings during lockdown, has brought me joy. In my last school talk before the current situation, I read to a group of reception children. They listened to the Little Turtle’s message of ‘small things can do GREAT BIG THINGS as well.’ One tiny girl suddenly stood up and proudly said, ‘We can do it!’ Her friends joined in, until they were all chanting, ‘We can do it, we can do it!’ The teacher looked utterly bewildered and said, ‘You’re starting a mini revolution.’ That day gave me so many reasons to be cheerful. The self belief these small children had inspired me. I still smile about it as I sit here writing. Every time I do a reading, I meet young children who are engaged, proactive, and energetic for change. They leap into action. Most of all, they care. 

Bo also asked me yesterday, ‘Mama, what is white privilege?’ We had a very open discussion about the Black Lives Matter movement, to which he replied, ‘All lives matter, even if you’re dead. You still matter. Otherwise you end up in the Land of the Forgotten. We all want to end up in the Land of the Remembered.’ It’s a reference to the Book of Life film. 

We have heard so much during lockdown about ‘homeschool’ and about juggling work and teaching our children. Yes it is a juggle as we all try to fit in our work, exercise, chores, schooling and simply being. I often begin my work at 5/5.30pm and work into the night. My to-do list has to- do lists and some projects are on pause, but others have emerged out of this situation that I had not foreseen. I am thankful for that. This unprecedented situation we all find ourselves in can be challenging, even draining, but to be honest, it has also been a privilege. I am not the only teacher at our homeschool. I am learning from Bo. Admittedly, I have learned historical facts I never learned in school thanks to his obsession with Egyptian, Roman and World War history. I know a 

lot more about the Titanic and pirates than I ever did! More than that, I have learned to look for the joy in the simple things. Last week we bought a printer that we needed for work. As Bo watched the paper emerge with freshly printed words and images, he found the magic in it. He danced to the sound of the printer, hearing music in its workings. Daily, he is my teacher just as much as I am his. 

It is now week fifteen of lockdown for us. I am sure we have all experienced good days and bad days. It comes in waves of emotion at times. I am also sure, Bo would try to jump on a surfboard and ride those waves if he could. 

I hope you too can find your reasons to be cheerful, even in the fleeting moments and in the simplest of things at this uncertain time. 

If in doubt, when the storm winds blow, unzip your jacket, pull it up over your head and fly..... 

Lauren Davies