Day 9

Day 9: What if?..

Today’s blog was going to be about Richard. This journey was supposed to be his. He thought of it and wanted to do it. I’m doing it as a replacement, I didn’t start 2022 with any idea that I would spend 14 nights with no home.

But first I need to tell you about my body. For the last few days it has objected loudly. No, it has shouted at me; ‘this is no way to treat me!!’ When I get up I’ve got a picture in my mind of my dad in his seventies, slowly stretching when he stood up, as if he was putting some of his bones back in place, a place they were tired of being. That’s me this morning. I wake two or three times in the middle of every night to reposition in the least uncomfortable shape. Usually, I move from sleeping on one side to the other, and then to sleeping on my back. I don’t think I ever sleep on my back at home. 

I am tired. And I have to get up and leave. Years of listening to people tells me that the time I need to leave depends on where I’ve found to sleep. One man was accepted sleeping in an old hut near some factories and would sometimes stay all day, mentally unwell and avoiding human contact. But, I think, that is rare. Most get up and leave before daytime users come and see them. They don’t want to lose a good spot. Typically, I would have no choice. Aching bones and unwilling body would stand for nothing. Trudge, trudge, trudge. Off I go into another day which holds little in terms of promise. 

So, back to Richard. Aston Church was the first place he ever slept rough. It was the day his bridge with home was finally burnt. I have all sorts of ‘what if?’ questions that imagine early interventions stopping years of street life, of drug dependency, begging, being the victim of two serious assaults on the street, being taken off the street into hospital. Not to mention developing the nasty side of his character to defend himself. Years and years and years of lost talent, lost life, lost relationships.

But the truth is, my ‘what ifs’ were needed sooner. What if his mum hadn’t died? What if his dad had coped better with her death? What if the wider family hadn’t threatened his dad’s ability to cope with two young children? What if…? What if?... What if?...

Recently he asked me what it was like to grieve. He didn’t think he’d ever done it. Not for his mum, because he thought he might be to blame. What could a small child have done? But he was cuddling her when her heart stopped. The thought that he should have done something has stayed with him. He didn’t grieve for his dad. He had rebelled against his dad. His dad never gave up on him and Richard knew it. When he died, Richard used more heroin. It took him to a happier place away from grief. And now? Well, Richard is getting there.

He has a life. Why did it have to take so long?

If you want to know more about changing the lives of people who are homeless visit www.archerproject.org.uk 

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