Harpenden

Maddi Hastings

My mother takes me back to her care home. Back to the place she grew up When I left that place, my childhood ended she mourns over what has broken; fallen apart as time passed.

Our journey sees us manoeuvring through the highway, following a tide of traffic. Imitating the toy cars my brother and I once played with.

A zombie-like fatigue lingers. Though Mum is awake and alert as we venture through an unsettled detour – courtesy of the sat nav which tries to retrace steps now lost.

We return to the home, the oval that once shaped her world, surrounded by the discomfort of the smallest of changes. And yet she lights up with contentment.

Walking through memories, snapshots of stories told in passing.

Next comes introductions. Mum recognises names with voices, faces are no longer the same. Grown out of the faded photographs that fill old scrapbooks.

Mum isn’t that little girl anymore. Nor are her peers, old friends. Surrogate siblings that lost their bond.