First-person piece by Cllr Andree Frieze (Ham, Petersham and Richmond Riverside, Green Party) on loss in lockdown.

Many's the time in the last few years I've wished that I could stop the world, step off for a breather and return revitalised. The beginning of 2020 was no exception. As well as being as Councillor for Ham, Petersham and Richmond Riverside, I was working part-time for the Green Assembly Members at City Hall and standing as the South West London candidate in the London Assembly elections, while continuing with my usual community activities of being a governor for Meadlands School, volunteering with the Ham & Petersham SOS and sitting on various local committees. Plus, I'm a mum to two teenagers, with a husband and a home to manage. I was busy fulfilling the 21st century mantra of being busy, busy, busy.

Then in March when, like everyone else I sought refuge from the pandemic in my home, lockdown felt a welcome break from the 'busyness'. Suddenly I did not have to be anywhere. My contract at City Hall had already ended, to allow for an election that was now no longer taking place, which also meant there were no political campaigning meetings.

There were no council meetings, no committee meetings, no any meetings. No social life. There was just home, daily walks with my working-from-home, anxious-to-hear-if-his-job-was-secure husband, while supporting my sons cut adrift from a gap-year trip and GCSEs, and trying to get food.

To fill my meeting-free days I lavished attention on my garden, pruning and sprucing and volunteered with both RUILS and SOS doing phone befriending and essential shopping for shielding people. I was also calling my parents regularly. They only live in Twickenham, but it might as well have been Timbuktu. My Mum, Maxine, had a mastectomy at the beginning of April and got home the day before her 79th birthday on the 6th. She was recovering slowly, and although they'd removed all the breast cancer, there were spots on two of her lymph nodes they'd also taken out. She would need radiotherapy, but the consultant seemed upbeat, assuring her it wasn't as bad as chemo and that it was very effective.

The day after Mum's birthday, we cycled over to wish her happy birthday. She and my dad stood at their front door and we shouted at them from the pavement keeping the driveway between us.

My husband snapped a photo of Mum in her dressing gown, saying 'I hope that's not the last photo I take of her'.

It was.

In just two-and-a-half weeks Mum went from recovering from a major operation to having a bit of a sore throat to being taken to West Middlesex hospital after not eating for more than 24 hours and with oxygen levels of 80 per cent. She managed to text my dad from her bed to say she'd tested positive for Covid-19. Somehow, whether from the operation at the beginning of the month or through my dad, who went out to do their food shopping, Mum caught coronavirus. We heard nothing from West Middlesex for nearly 48 hours, by which time we were spare with worry. Then, on the Saturday the doctor called my Dad. She was stable, she was comfortable, but they had agreed she was Do Not Resuscitate as they advised she wouldn't survive being intubated.

That was the point when we should have realised. Realised that my mummy - who had seen off rheumatic fever as child, open heart surgery 20 years ago, an emergency appendectomy aged 73 and numerous other ailments - wouldn't survive this. She died on Sunday 26th April. I was in the front garden when I was told. I can remember the exact spot.

I was standing there again on Saturday just gone. That was the first time in nearly three months I've been able to bring myself to tackle the front garden since that awful day.

Why am I telling you this? The editor of this online newspaper asked me, as a councillor, if I would write for them. I considered tackling the issue of Richmond Park being closed to through-traffic, the problem of littering and lack of public toilets or the council's bid for a bridge between Ham and Twickenham. Maybe next time I will choose one of these, but this time I wanted to share my story with you all and particularly with the families of the 150 other people in our borough who have lost a loved one to Covid-19.

It is a lonely way to die. None of Mum's family saw or spoke to her during her last three days of life in hospital. I barely spoke to her the week before that as she was too ill. I know she saw the photos of flowers I sent to cheer her up when she was in hospital, because of the WhatsApp ticks. I'll never know if she read the text I sent her.

She died alone. She died without saying goodbye. She died without her husband of nearly 55 years by her side. The funeral was just nine of us at Mortlake Crematorium with relatives and friends watching via webcam. We have grieved by ourselves at home and cried via Zoom. It is no way to mourn.

I know that hundreds of other families across Richmond will have similar experiences, but may not have the chance to share their stories. I hope that by doing this, you will know that you and all your sacrifices are not forgotten.

In memory of the 150 people in Richmond borough who died from Covid-19, as well as the tens of thousands more across the UK.

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