IF time is not measured by clocks, but by memorable moments and dates, then 26th of March 2020 is a day that my mother Margaret, myself and all our family will never forget. A moment in time that will be forever seared into our souls and, in grief, etched into our memories.

Exactly one year ago today, three days after the UK entered its first national lockdown, my much-loved and troubled younger brother Calum William Alistair Macleod (57) passed away in his sleep.

Myocardial Infarction, a massive heart failure, was recorded by the coroner as the cause of Calum's untimely but instantaneous death, not Covid -19. A small mercy, I know, because unlike many thousands of Covid-19 victims, we were assured Calum didn’t suffer any trauma or distress in his passing.

But the sorrow, anguish, and pain we as a family felt at losing my brother was equally as profound and palpable as that of those who had lost or who in the coming year would lose a loved one to this debilitating and deadly disease.

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A grieving process, which was made all the more poignant, difficult, and desolate at the time due to the severe lockdown infection control measures which the government had placed on public gatherings, hospitality and travel.

Dystopian and bitterly resented restrictions which drastically reduced the numbers of those allowed to attend Calum's funeral, to a small, socially distanced, mask-wearing family gathering of just nine people, and which wiped out any chance of us holding a celebratory remembrance wake in his honour for the many, many people who lives Calum had also deeply touched, and who now mourned his passing.

Emotionally crippling enforcement measures and a raft of rolling restrictions that, one year on, has meant that my personal journey of mourning still feels incomplete and finding closure to Calum's passing has proved to be as difficult now as it was then. Something that most families who have tragically lost a loved one during these last agonising 12 months will no doubt also be struggling to come to terms with.

In what was called a National Day of Reflection, on Tuesday at midday, right across the UK, a minute’s silence was held, to respectfully mourn the 126,000 people, including almost 10,000 Scots, who have died from Covid-19.

Surprisingly sombre, for once, PM Boris Johnson said: “For so many people grief has been made more acute because we’ve not been able to see our loved ones in their final days, to hold their hands, and to mourn them together.”

In Holyrood, all five Scottish party leaders gathered with Presiding Officer Ken McIntosh to pay their respects. With Scotland’s FM Nicola Sturgeon leading the way by paying heartfelt “tribute to the strength and resolve of bereaved families”. Landmarks including The SSE Hydro, The Kelpies as well as The London Eye and Blackpool Tower were all later bathed in yellow light as a mark of respect.

These were right and fitting tributes of remembrance for those who have tragically succumbed to covid and solemn expressions of solidarity and support for the many grieving families who have lost loved ones from this deadly disease.

But what about the hundreds of thousands of people who didn’t die directly from covid, but indirectly. People like my troubled brother Calum. Should they not also be remembered, and tribute paid to their grieving families?

I can think of at least five other good people who, in the past year, have also passed away. Two were suicides brought about by depression during lockdown, one fell victim to an undiagnosed aggressive cancer, one passed away locked down in a care home suffering from vascular dementia, and another, again depressed, slowly drank himself to death.

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These are the hidden victims of this deadly disease, and their lives should be celebrated, remembered, and mourned as much as those who died from the virus. If life isn’t a matter of milestones but of moments, then let future National Days of Reflection be moments in time where we remember all the victims of this pandemic, not just those who died from the virus.

Let them be for my deeply loved and sorely-missed brother Calum.