Losing A Home

It is quite incredible how a version of life can begin.

Mine personally began in a rented, mold-ridden two bedroom house in Cleethorpes, with very little money and very steep stairs. Whilst I was living there I didn't realize just how much it has meant to me. I painted every room in the house right up until I was nine months pregnant. I changed it from a lifeless house into a home absolutely brimming with love.

I still pass it every weekday, on my way to work. I still glance at my door. My sign still hangs there. No junk mail. I could once open that door and on my wooden floor would lay a mat, to wipe our feet on those cold winter days. I bought it during pregnancy. It read, "little monster lives here". The mud marks on that mat would never quite come off. They irritated me. How I miss my mat.

I used to walk through the hall, it was cold, but now painted a beautiful mint and purple. I wanted my house to be bright, like a rainbow. Full of happiness. Every room with a meaning, a purpose. My living room was huge. It really was. I used to sit by that fire at night time, once I had put my beautiful newborn baby to bed in his Moses basket. I would stare down at his beautiful face, still quite amazed that I had created him. I was so full of pride. I used to cuddle him in my bedroom, walk him to the window and show him the cars passing by. I was worried about those windows though, they had no ledge beneath them. I contacted the landlord immediately, panicking about him opening one and falling out when he was older. He'd have been fine. I'd have made sure of that.

Diego's bedroom was the hardest to lose. I'd saved up with my tiny wages for a Dumbo wall sticker. To this day it was the most beautiful I had ever seen. We had a hell of a night putting it up. It looked magnificent. His walls were electric blue and white, his wardrobes fresh from the shop, with that scent that you can never quite inhale enough of. His handmade wooden toy box glowed through the dark hours, right alongside his baby monitor. Those teddies looked quite scary in the dark, yet now I miss their faces. They were the faces of presents from the people who loved my little boy. Who would always support us. Be there for us. They were from people I had come to care about. I don't know if they would speak to me now. Their gifts have left marks on my heart. I can still picture every single one piled up on my beautiful baby blue carpet. And my boy's beautiful face when he saw them. I sat him next to them, naturally, for a photograph. I had never been so proud of what I had achieved.

I remember every ornament, every picture. I remember every mark, every improvement. I even remember where I kept my tins in the cupboards; how I spent too much on buying food containers to make my cupboards neat, and my cereal boxes. Oh and my baby's sterilizing bowl. Changed every day. My breast-pump sounding every hour. The sound of my newborn's crying hitting the walls. The bits between, like going into labor in my bedroom, watching the football in my living room. Bathing with gritted teeth and special bubble bath after labor. Freezing days and night after night of hot water bottle refills, because bills were tight. 

Chocolate cake became a favorite of mine. Weekend pudding treats in my £50 microwave. I'd had a meltdown in Asda when I was two months pregnant and they wouldn't exchange it as I didn't have a receipt. It was brand new and didn't work. I cried my eyes out. In the end they exchanged it. Two days later I found my receipt anyway.

My favourite improvement was the garden. It had been a garden just full of junk from the previous owners. Only six months before I lost my home I had flowers planted down the sides. I went out every day and every night to water them. They were stunning. It was a miracle to have my own beautiful flowers.

This post my not make much sense to you, but I wrote it for me. I wrote it because I needed too, because my heart still breaks for my home. I live in one bedroom now, with my parents. I have condensed all that I used to own into one bedroom. I was forced to get rid of everything I had bought when my relationship went wrong, seemingly overnight, and left me unable to pay for my Cleethorpes house. Within one month I had cleared the house, alone. Returning every night with my one year old baby sleeping in his pram.

The hardest night of my life was the last day. I went back, because I needed too. It was bonfire night and fireworks were going off in the neighbors garden. Usually one of my favourite times of year. I stood in my empty living room, my baby boy asleep in his pram, tucked in with so many thick blankets, oblivious to the pain that was now tearing out my heart. My legs gave way and I fell to the floor, the only sound I could hear were those fireworks, echoing through my home. I looked out at the window that I had once smiled at. A cat had once walked straight passed my window and made me jump out of m skin. I wondered up to my boy's bedroom where his Dumbo sticker had become the only sign that this bedroom had once been a baby's little nursery. I sat alone in my house and sobbed silently until my boy awoke, and then I took him back to our new house. 

I had lost almost everything I had when I lost my home.

Appreciate what you have, sometimes you don't realize just how much it means to you. 

My baby boy kept me strong
when I hit one of the weakest points in my life.

Boneata Bell 

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