I first remember Bob reaching for my hand when we worked together and we were the best of friends. We were stood together at the left hand side of the chairs in the Pier theatre. The lights had dipped and the show had just started. I don’t remember why it happened but I do remember thinking things would never be the same again. We had always got on well, laughed and joked around. He knew he wanted to marry me more or less instantly. It took me a little longer! In later life he always told me that and he remembers the moment he first clapped eyes on me. I was being interviewed for the job by someone else and he walked into the office to get something from a filing cabinet. But when he tentatively held my hand that evening , briefly, for just a few seconds I knew there was a new intimacy between us. A new connection. A connection that would last.

We have had a lifetime of holding hands.

Bob was always a gentleman. He was the type of man who opened car doors for me or carried my shopping or suitcases. We walked together in the countryside and in towns always holding hands!

There is something reassuring and comforting when his hand is in mine. I miss it and so does he.

Latterly Bob suffered with severe anxiety and was prone to shaking episodes. I walked around the house with him holding his hand for hours until these shakes subdued. He wanted to hold my hand as he went to sleep and it helped him, soothed and comforted his fevered thoughts. I miss his hand in mine!

It is the saddest part of Bob being in care that we are not permitted to hold hands.

I have seen him in the flesh as it were, just 3 times in the garden. We are 6 months into this now.

The rules are 2 metres away, 30 minutes for once a week. It feels like we are criminals. Bob does not understand why I cannot touch him. He reaches for me. He tries to stand in his wheelchair. The care worker tries to tell him not to, as he might ‘tumble’. But he is valiantly trying to bear his weight and walk to me arms outstretched . Desperate for that contact. Me too. He tries several times and in the end he holds his hands like a handshake and kisses his own hands , the nearest he can get to kissing my hands. It is harrowing to watch. He sometimes says ‘it’s no good’ or he beckons me to him ‘come’ but I cannot comfort him. He sometimes tells me he loves me and my heart soars – he hasn’t forgotten me!

I have tried everything to persuade the powers that be to let me hold his hands. I have weekly covid 19 tests, all negative, I am willing to be wrapped in PPE , gloves, apron, and mask. I will sit out in the open where there is plenty of air circulating. I will do anything to give him this small comfort in his latter stages of Alzheimer’s. The July 2020 government guidance has changed. There is a realisation that Alzheimer and dementia patients need this type of contact. But it is a discretionary measure.

I know Covid 19 is here for a long time and we need to be safe. I don’t shop in supermarkets, I live on my own, I haven’t travelled very far. I have to keep myself safe as I have an 87 year old Mum to keep an eye on. I have taken advice and with the measures I am taking I would be mitigating any risk to give Covid 19 to Bob. or anyone else!

I wonder if I will ever hold his hands again. There must be so many who are suffering I have been told when he is dying I will be given that discretion. Am I supposed to be grateful for that?