Letters From Lockdown 87: Eleanor Bogle

Dear Dad,

I know it hasn’t been that long since we last spoke (less than 20 minutes) but I just wanted to say thanks. For everything. Literally everything; you are one of the reasons I exist, but especially now. When the world is going to shit, either for everyone or just within my own skull, just the sound of your voice, even through the phone, smooths all the worries away. Whether it’s a quick check in on a Tuesday morning, or a long vent about the struggles of the week or of life in general, or a voicemail about your schedule for the next few days, I feel instantly more centred. You almost definitely know this, but I’ll just take a moment to say that you are my rock, my guidepost, and one of my best friends.

For the first lockdown, you let me be me and take my time to regain some strength. You cooked amazing meals and slept through mediocre films with me. You walked with the dog and I through meadows, and read with me on a bench while I sat in the neighbouring tree. You read my messy, homemade words and smiled encouragingly as I fucked up a carbonara recipe so bad that, not only did it take me over four hours, but it was essentially a cheese soup with other bits floating around in the bowl. But you smiled and ate it anyway.

This second lockdown has been hard for a number of reasons, but the biggest one is not seeing your face every morning in the kitchen. Or making your lunch when you’re on a conference call. Or sitting in the garden watching Gilmore Girls for the umpteenth time. Or discussing our preferences of Mozart symphonies. Just you.

Just, thank you. For being you, and for being always there.

I love you (obviously),


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