Part 2 (c) – Extract
I left broken and returned grown. My journey home.
And that was it.
I was on Clapham manor street.
I have walked down that street a million times.
At every stage of my life until the age of 28.
I have walked down it happy, sad, crying, drunk, angry, scared, excited.
I have run down it…. rode down it…. driven down it.
I have chased people down it…been chased. Had fights on that road.
Pushed my babies along it.
I have walked with people I loved down it, been in love as I walked down it.
This road is my road.
It is where the best and the worst thing happened to me and everything in between, and suddenly….it was very real and very scary and then I did cry,
A real cry. With snot.
Then the sun started shining.
I kid you not, it had been overcast the entire time and now the sun came through.
And it was beautiful.
I don’t know what I was expecting.
When I left, Clapham manor street was dark and empty.
I walked behind my mother’s coffin down that road and remember thinking how grey the road was.
Sad.
Not now. Not today. There are flowers everywhere.
There are splashes of colour everywhere.
Flowers planted around streetlights, flower boxes overflowing.
I was truly taken back but how stunning it was.
There were people outside pruning flowers and just chatting.
And I was outside my flat.
The flat.
With a bunch of flowers for my mum.
And I cried. Not a lot. But I let it hurt for a moment.
I know every part of that block of flats. Every inch.
I have jumped out of every window of that flat. And climbed in.
I have played dolls outside, slept on the grass when I couldn’t get in. My children played here. My pets are buried here.
No one answered my buzzer, so I pressed trade…and it opened.
“Don’t bloody slam the block doors” I can almost hear my mum shout.
I sat on the stairs outside my old front door like I had done a thousand times.
I would sit here when they rowed.
When she was mad at me.
When I needed to think up a lie to tell her.
I sat here when I didn’t want to go home but needed to be near in case, she needed me.
I have sat here and cried many tears.
This is where I sit to ground myself.
And I had forgotten all about it.
And then we sat together, she and I. Me and her. Like I knew I needed to.
I sat in silence for a good while. Whilst we made peace. Whilst we cried.
Whilst we remembered how hard it was to live here.
Yes…so much love…but so much pain.
Too much.
We agreed that whilst we will always respect this place and will now often visit, and lay flowers for mum, we don’t need to stay here anymore.
She needed to come with me now.
Then I said out loud but ….in like a broken whisper
“Come on, you don’t live here anymore”.
And we had our last cry. Me and Blondy.
Because even though I had lost her and then found her over the past 18 months and realised that the little girl in me was not to blame for all that…. I didn’t trust her enough to come home.
I didn’t believe in that inner child enough to set her free.
Until today.
I sat on those stairs today and …. if you can picture it as I did…. I sat there as me…next to her…and she was very angry and sad.
She wondered why I had left her here. Why she had to stay here. Not even in the Flat. Just sitting outside. And I had to explain that it was my way of coping.
That the hurt was so bad that I punished her.
Rejected her.
And that I was sorry.
I ran my hand over the wall as I thought about all of this.
Something I always did as a kid but did not remember until today.
I remembered the sensation so well.
Sitting there as a kid, running my hand over the cool wall, liking the way the bumps felt.
Sometimes it was freezing in the block.
Sometimes there would be rain bashing against the block windows.
Sometime the steps were wet and dirty.
It didn’t matter because I was safe there.
Over and over, I would rub my hand as I worked out what ever problem I had come to the steps with that day.
And her I was now, 41 years of age, using the same stemming method to calm myself.
And this made me smile, that simple touch took me back and I could have kissed that wall because I have never felt more at home as I did in that second on those steps running my hand across the wall that has calmed me trough many things,
And I am grateful I had that space.
I got up and …. I was not broken.
I was the opposite of broken.
It was time for me to leave.
I would be back…but never like this.
This time I was leaving whole and would return as a visitor the next time…like someone who visits a museum and just looks and nods at the history around them, not searching for comfort and security.
I had returned to the battle ground.
Where IT had all happened.
But there were no dead bodies or horrid scenes I needed to turn away from.
Just ghost of the past that didn’t want to hurt anyone.
It was time to leave.
I went home today.
Kendra Houseman
Kent