On Sunday the 21st of March, I was at my Mum’s house.

My parents have been divorced for nearly four years now, and I spend half my time with each of them. That week, I was supposed to go to my Dad’s on Tuesday morning. He phoned me at lunchtime.

“I think you need to make a decision about where you want to be if we get locked down.”

I paused. As much as I love my Mum and her partner, I knew that within days we’d all be climbing the walls of their two-bedroom flat. “Probably with you. You have cats.”

And so it was decided. Dad came to pick me up on Monday morning, just in case … and by Tuesday, lockdown was well and truly on.

I’ve been here for three weeks now. I don’t regret my decision - we have a garden here, and with my Mum being a doctor going into hospital every day it definitely puts me at a lower risk of catching anything.

But I really miss her.

I miss her precise way of asking how my day has been, and her cooking, and watching quiz shows with her on Monday nights.

Most of all, I just want her to give me a hug.

I know I’m far from being the only person to miss my family right now. I feel for those who live alone, for those whose health conditions mean they have to stay away even from the people they live with, and especially for those whose families are abroad. I remind myself every day how lucky I am to have my Dad here, and to have my Mum on the other end of a phone.

But this is how I’m feeling. So I’m going to be honest about it.

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