Alex Kane: My desire for survival isn’t just about doing all the things I haven’t done but about seeing my children grow up

‘Beyond the obvious things that have changed for all of us, what is now your new normal life?’

In some ways my ‘normal’ life before lockdown was fairly similar to what it is now.

I work mostly from home (writing and occasional radio interviews).

Indy, now 33 months, contributes to that process, mostly by hollering when I am doing a down-the-line interview, or bombarding me with toast, banana, porridge, yogurt (his favourite missile of choice), lego, or wooden blocks (which, for some reason, he always aims at my ear).

All of this to the background drone of Peppa Pig or Mr Tumble (I’ve tried to convert him to Frasier or Sherlock Holmes, but he just howls at the TV).

This, by the way, is the same process I went through with Lilah, who is now 10 and, until a couple of weeks ago, was at school from 9-3.

I stopped writing when she returned, preferring to listen to the download of her day: she’s still at that age when everything is a bizarre mix of wonder and irritation and she is a fabulous narrator.

Their Mum, Kerri and I spend almost all of every day together. And the remarkable thing is that we never get bored with each other’s company.

For that alone, she deserves a medal. I am not an easy person to live with (I know, that will have come as a shock to all of you) but she has found the secret.

I obsess about the most ridiculous of things (bins are the latest in a long, long list) and explain my concerns in excruciating detail.

I’m pretty sure she doesn’t actually listen to a word I say, yet she manages — and she has it down to a fine art — to give the impression that she’s hanging on to my every word.

Our lives, in the great scheme of things, don’t sound terribly exciting. But they are very happy lives.

No big house or fancy lifestyle, perhaps, but a mountain of simple, fundamental contentment.

As many of you will know I came to head-over-heels love and fatherhood fairly late and I have been reinvented, regenerated and utterly, utterly changed by both.

The old Alex would have been appalled by smeared marmalade on a shirt — particularly if it was a day when I had to go for a meeting or whatever — today I wear it as a badge of happiness, because the smear probably came from Indy hugging me goodbye.

But, back to William’s question. My ‘new normal life’ is worrying about them. Before them I had never worried about my own death.

It was just one of those things that happened.

I don’t believe in God and viewed the ‘last gasp of air’ as nothing more than the final closing down of a computer.

Back then I’m not even sure I put a particular value on life.

Now I do. I was reminded how much quite recently by a line in the film Mr Nobody: “I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid I haven’t been alive enough.”

The life I value is the life I now live through Kerri and the children. I lived and existed before them, of course I did. But I can’t ever remember feeling so alive; so looking forward to each new day and each new step in the lives of the children.

Losing that life scares me. Actually, it terrifies me. I’m even more terrified of me surviving while one of them dies.

In Aspects of Love (a fairly dire musical — and I say that as someone who loves musicals) the lead character sings, ‘Love, love changes everything, hands and faces, earth and sky...’

I’m now discovering, as are millions upon millions of others, that fear does exactly the same thing.

Maybe I am over-worrying and over-thinking.

Maybe this is just another one of my obsessions. But when you reach your mid-60s (and I know that the majority of people dying from the virus, or needing specialist care, is in that age group) and have had a relatively short time with the people who have brought you so much joy, then worry is, I think, inevitable.

As I’ve said before, my desire for survival isn’t just about writing best-selling books, or getting the chance to do all the things I haven’t already done.

I just want as much time as possible to see my children grow a little bit more. I also want them to get to know more about me.

I want to see them come through this and for life to return to what used to be ‘normal’ for them.

Lilah misses school and her friends. She misses the wider family and friends circle, too. She knows something is wrong, but doesn’t fully understand what.

Indy doesn’t have a clue. He’s still bombarding me with toys and food remnants: but he now has his sisters around him all the time.

Megan, 21 and back from university, is finding it hard to adjust to the loss of her independence (which seemed to consist of staying up all night, ‘clubbing’ and the luxury of not being told what to do by us); but quite likes a well-stocked fridge, clean towels in the bathroom and Lilah sneaking into her room to watch the Disney favourites that Megan made us watch over and over again when she was the same age.

What is a normal life?

It’s a question which everyone probably asks at some point or other.

For me, anything that keeps me with Kerri and the children is the only ‘normal’ I want.

Stay safe and well everyone.