Lockdown Birthday

“Mum, I’m coming home for your birthday.”

“Perfect, I’ll make your favourite dinner.”

The following day, Leo announces lockdown. No travel outside 2km.

“I must go home.”

“But you are home.”

“Dublin’s my home now, Mum.”

Early the next morning, Son, anxious to test the roads and I want to get a Curly Wurly cake, we drive the 2km to Cinnamon Cottage.

I take my place in the queue outside the Cottage. 

Respecting the two-metre distance, several people stand around chatting while hugging their takeaway coffee cups. 

A squad car drives by.   

Everyone stops talking and look anxiously at the car.

The single female garda smiles kindly and moves on.

The only curly wurly cake left is large and still frozen. I take it, and several other things as well: who knows when we might see food again.

Driving home again, we see gardai setting up a roadblock on Maryborough Hill. Time to get on the road.

Lunch at 11 am. ‘Happy Birthday’ at 11.30 am.

“Are you sad?"

“I am. But if I were 26 again, I’d do the exact same thing.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

We hug and, with a quarter of still frozen curly wurly cake in the passenger seat of his car, he left.