Ever since I left home young, I would describe my relationship with my parents as ‘complicated’.
We’re not touchy feely. We’re not even very talky. Getting past the past has been a slow and more or less silent process. Over time, the cracks have patched themselves.
Shortly after moving into my house, while putting away the various bits of the Christmas gift package they got me, I came across a handwritten card that I’d originally missed when I opened it.
I read it, and cried. It was a little strange, reading something that had been written a few months ago, with all that had happened since. There was no judgement or disappointment in it, only unconditional support – just as the following months came to prove.
It’s funny that I found myself back in my childhood home 10 years later. But as much as I needed to leave when I left, I really needed to return when I did.