Bindi Shah
Your view…
is beautiful.
Yes, I say.
Thoughts of how we had chosen this house.
This view.
It was to be a forever home for a family.
One we wanted… in the end so desperately.
At the start ‘it will come’,
But it never did,
But the view and me still here.
Yes, I say.
It’s a beautiful view.
I see the Lido where the children would have swam.
The playground where they would have played.
A wonderful place to bring up a family.
I know, as I see other families here.
All the time.
Babies, toddlers, school-age children, teenagers,
Children in their 20s, not wanting to leave.
Viewed from my view.
Their voices heard from my home.
Yes, I say.
It’s an amazing view.
The seascape changing daily.
The tides showing me time.
The seagulls, the pigeons, the crows.. and people,
Living life.
While I observe from up above.
Gently existing, or trying to.
My view.
My very special view.
Yes, I say.
It’s an inspiring view.
I see the nursing home where my dear friend Nina lived once.
Both of us in our childless grief living on either side of the park.
But not knowing the other existed.
I view this changing world from my loft.
The space created to bring in the little ones.
There are no little ones here – just me.
At the top of the house looking down.
I sometimes go to the balcony,
And shout out ‘I’m on top of the world’
It makes me laugh.
It brings me comfort to see this shift.
This house, this view,
Will always be bittersweet.
It is beautiful, but it was meant to hold so much more.
It was going to hold memories, laughter, fun, good times.
But instead, it held sadness, anger.
The feeling of wanting to shut off the world.
And I did, shut off.
But as I heal, as my grief lessens.
I fall in love once again with the view.
The one you see, which captivates you.
You say ‘I never tire of seeing your amazing view.’
It enchants me again.
I ease into living here, being in this house.
This dear home, which held so much promise.
And still can…
I go swimming at the Lido, walks on the seafront.
I go to the balcony,
And shout ‘I’m on top of the world’
And a part of me believes it… and heals.
