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Safety.

There’s something in the lounge. In the kitchen. In the cooking. The love in the food. The warmth in the soup that’s not about temperature.

There’s indescribable reassurance as we sit by the TV. You in your chair. Me thinking, “Yes, this is what I needed.”

There’s always comfort here. It brings me back to my younger vulnerable self. This was my safety net.

I lived in a flat overflowing with too much freedom too young but I came here to recuperate, to feel loved and looked after, like deep down I always wanted. That really, I always needed.

I fought for the the freedom back then. I fought for what I already knew. The loneliness. The escapism. The ability to fulfil my cracked heart and wounded heads’ desire.

Here I am, over a decade after back then and I feel the same safety I felt back then. I’m adored like I’d long my lost mother to adorn me. By my maternal grandmother.

Her touch. The way she looks me in the eye, they glisten. I’m not Shelley. I never will be. I’m Abbie. Mum is the missing link but together glam’ma and I share something special.

It’s not always smooth sailing. My sensitive soul sometimes crushes at things she says though she tells me always it’s out of love. But most of the time, it’s something I need, something I crave, something that soothes the enormous gap that is the loss of mum.

It’s a very special relationship her and I. Right now. In this moment. I feel calm. I feel soothed. The air is her love around me.

I love you grandma. I love you mum. I love the feeling of safety.

I may be an adult, but something here brings me back, in a more nostalgic way, and unpacks the pain of the past.

The way my grandmother loves me.

My mum’s mum.

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