Much like the rest of the country, my 95-year-old grandpa, Peter, is in lockdown too. But unlike most of us resorting to Zoom quizzes and phone calls to keep in touch with our loved ones, my grandpa has no mobile and no computer in his assisted home 150 miles away.
My grandpa is an authoritative figure, warm, with a healthy dose of sarcasm. But moreover, he is a family man with a love for all things food, history and languages: my fond childhood memories with him revolve around some form of teaching, whether it was how to peel potatoes or linguistics – either way the dictionary was never far away.
Constantly intrigued by what his grandchildren are up to, he’s always remained in close contact. Over the years this often took form in letters and cards – he’d never miss a birthday or any special occasion. It was all very proper and, to me, old-fashioned: date written in the top right-hand corner, pages filled with impeccable, meticulous writing. The letters he wrote to me in my childhood varied in subject, whether it was an update on my favourite dog of his, Digby, or words of encouragement before a ballet show, his writing always resonated. Every letter felt like a gift in itself.
But in his old age, my grandpa’s lost much of his independence. Arthritis prevents him from writing, his hearing aids make phone calls impractical. So when I was navigating the challenges of communicating with him in lockdown, letter writing seemed like the best option. Initially intended just to ease his boredom, these one-sided lockdown letters have transformed into something far more meaningful.
“I narrated life on the outside – on the things he cannot experience for himself.”
The contents range from culinary experiments (or disasters, like dehydrated pastries), to observations on the world outside his care home. Reflecting upon how restrictive and lonely life may currently be for him, I narrated life on the outside – on the things he cannot experience for himself. Whether it’s the politics of the one-way system in the local Co-op in lockdown, or lengthy rants on current crises, there’s little consistency.
Whilst the one-sided nature of these letters can feel odd at times, I’ve received good feedback. Writing these lockdown letters to my grandpa has led to a number of realisations that busy life rarely leaves time to reflect upon. While a present figure in my life, in recent years whether it was distance, time or any other excuse I can find, our one-on-one conversations have been rare. In that sense, these letters are somewhat of a silver lining, an opportunity to say anything I’ve wanted to with the time we’ve got left with each other.
In an age so consumed by technology, and the current restrictions of most face-to-face contact, the reliance on social media and Zoom calls have become the norm for communication. But excessive screen time can become tiresome and it can sometimes feel overwhelming to keep up with a constant online presence.
These letters have in turn highlighted a clear paradox between social media and letter writing, the former connection dependent, instantaneous and somewhat distant, while the latter is uninterrupted and easy. For me, letter writing in a time which feels so uncertain is simple and mindless. It’s just putting pen on paper and thoughts into words. It’s a tangible memento of a fixed time and place. I feel that I have more to say on paper than in messages that take less than minutes to write, and seconds to disappear.
Writing has reinforced the significance of intergenerational relationships for me, particularly between grandparents and grandchildren. I’ve only lived for a small portion of my grandpa’s life, but a constant curiosity exists between us. For me, a fascination with the past decades he’s lived through; for him, the curiosity of what life is like now, in the present.
“Despite the generational gap, the 150 mile distance and a global pandemic, it feels as if there’s no space at all between us.”
In a more selfish light, these letters have provided a combination of a digital detox and almost a form of lockdown therapy. While the pandemic has catalysed incredible solidarity and reinforced a sense of community, the internet reaction in particular can sometimes feel dominated by so much hurt and anger, for often very justifiable reasons – but this can also be hard to process. Letter writing, and in this case its one-sided nature, has provided space for both solace and reflection.
For my grandpa, these letters are a weekly source of lockdown entertainment and carry sentimental value, something which I’ve only recently discovered. In his youth, he frequently wrote letters to my late grandma whenever they were apart. So for him this is a nostalgic return to something both familiar and comforting. He’s also made it clear (on many occasions) that he’s rather bored, so I hope that these letters have eased that too.
Despite the generational gap, the 150 mile distance and a global pandemic, it feels as if there’s no space at all between my grandpa and I. When the times we’re in can feel uncharted, these letters have been an accidental, effortless silver lining. Although I’ve promised to visit my grandpa as soon as I can, the letters will continue.
Olive Enokido-Lineham is a freelance writer. Follow her on Twitter at @OliveLineham
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