If anything comes of this virus, the change in how we care for our elderly and – as in my sister's case – the young but the incapacitated must be paramount

Over the weeks, as the care home crisis has become the defining tragedy of this damned pandemic, I’ve been plagued by pangs of shameful relief.

- Lesley Roberts

I find myself feeling relieved that my sister succumbed to her illness before Covid-19 arrived at her home, before it found its way through her bedroom door, taken to her inadvertently by people who provided the care we couldn’t.

It’s such a terrible admission that I find it hard to write.

It is two years since we lost her to dementia. She passed away in the care home where she spent the last few years of her life.

I watch the television footage of traumatised loved ones standing outside care home windows, waving at confused, elderly relatives, and I have to admit, I don’t think I could’ve coped had that happened to us.

I read the reports of treasured family members dying alone, of relatives left helpless, robbed of the chance to say goodbye. It is so cruel.

Bereavement is bad enough. Bereavement on these terms, unbearable.

My sister couldn’t get out of bed, she didn’t understand enough to anticipate our visits, but she knew when we were there. She responded to touch, to her hand being held or her face being stroked.

She liked songs sung softly into her ear and the light-and-sound sensory gadgets we played for her.

We knew time was limited and spent hours with her. My mother visited every day. And we were all with my sister to the end.

I never thought we’d find ourselves grateful for any of that because it was so hard. But grateful I am now, because coronavirus has denied so many others that precious time, the chance to show their love till the very last.

Though it is painful to admit, and difficult to talk about, it’s too important not to.

COVID has rampaged through care homes, claiming thousands of residents, as well as undervalued, under-protected carers.