It is not the best time for my nearly 80-year-old mother to be discovering that she lost her husband three years ago. My father had passed away after a prolonged illness. At the time, my mother, who had fretted and worried throughout his illness, was in the bear grip of a paralytic stroke. She has lived inside a cocoon of silence ever since, trapped in the labyrinth of her own mind.
Now, in the middle of the lockdown, when my only connection with her is through FaceTime over a weak WiFi link, she has miraculously found her voice. And so she