FebulousFebruary 2025: Lost and Found

Part 2 (a) Extract 

       I left broken and returned grown. My journey home.

I went home today. My real home. SW London. More than that…I went to the flat that I grew up in. The flat where my son took his first breath, and my mum took her last. The walls of that place have seen and felt every emotion I can think of. And I have been in fear of returning to it since the day I left.

When I left my home, I was a broken women in many ways. My mum had died a few months before and the flat…. the one that I had lived in since I was 18 months old…. was taken away from me. A lady turned up a few weeks after my mum died and served me notice. Me … now…the person I am right now…. would have squashed that madness, fought for my home, and stood my ground. But I was broken in the worst way. I was broken inside and out.

But more than that…. the area I had grown up in was broken. It was grimy and merkey. And so was I. Bad things were happening in the area. Had been for a long time. I felt scared in the flat a lot of the time. Clapham was dank and dark. Nothing seemed to change, and nothing got better. I couldn’t change or get better. Looking back now I can see how toxic we were for each other.

Me and my ends. Like an abuse relationship that just won’t end until someone gets hurt, and I got hurt. Badly.

Everything caused me anxiety in SW London. I didn’t realise that at the time. I was just …anxious…. but actually, it was more than that. So many different traumas resurfaced each day. A simple walk to the shops could trigger something in me. And often did. But I didn’t realise because I was in it. I just thought it is who I am. 

Until today.

Me and my area were bad for each other at that time. Leaving was the hardest thing. And when I left in October 2008, I said that I would never ever return. Because it would hurt too much. And I never did.

Until today.

I thought that it was so bad when we left…gangs…violence…. hate…that when I returned it would be so dangerous that I would fear my own streets. And I could not accept that.

And so, I stayed away.

Until today.

I thought that the pain of my mum not standing at the back door as I walked towards the flat would rip me open again and I would have to heal all over.  I dream about “the flat” often. Mostly nightmares. But its where my mum always is. If I dream about the flat, then my mum is part of that dream. Good or bad.

A few years ago, I started talking about going back. One last look. I didn’t really know why, but I was starting to heal from…. everything…and something stirred in me. A need to go home. Not strong enough that I would do it…no way…. but I would spend ages on google maps looking at all the streets that were mine as a teen. I would make up all these scenarios of what it would be like to be outside the flat. It hunted me. I felt like if I didn’t return, I would never heal. So, I made plans many times to go back…. many times. But something always come up…. like…. that time when I was going to go but my alarm didn’t go off…or I couldn’t get a babysitter…or it was too cold….too hot….. anything….so I “couldn’t” go. Next summer I would say to myself…have said to myself for years now…. next summer I will go. But I didn’t.

Then, about 18 months ago my son came home after being out all day and said “I went to the flat”.

It was like he had said “I went to the moon and sat with Elvis”

I didn’t know what to say. I was so angry that he had put himself in danger from all the mandem around and that he had gone there and not been able to cope and….

Well

That’s not how it went down at all. He started telling me how nice it was. He asked if I wanted to see pictures. Initially I said no. No way. Then …maybe one

Man …I binged on his photos for weeks. He had taken pictures around the area as he walked about. It was…heaven. I knew every little bit of each picture. But …the pictures he had taken of the flat…. I could not hack them. They had the wrong curtains in the window and outside was all wrong. No no no….its not meant to be like that

And that was when I realised, I was not ready to go back. Not yet.

Until today.

(to be continued Day 23 of FebulousFebruary 2024)

Kendra Houseman 

Kent