No More Letters.

No one writes letters anymore. Well at least personal ones. Banks, solicitors and service providers do but they are never very welcome. Once upon a time I was prolific letter writer. Now after nearly thirty years taking medication my writing skills are eroded to virtually non existent. But I hark back to a day when that was the norm.

On this dull June day I'm reminiscing on a letter that arrived twenty nine years ago today. As I picked it up hungover and myopic on what was a warm and guilty day I had no idea what was to come. I had spoken to the writer the day before. She gave no hint that she had written a letter. When it arrived the shock and meltdown that it instigated was only in its first day. My illness started that day. Well maybe it had been coming all along.

I still have all those letter kept in little box on my desk with some old photos. Rachel the writer is long gone from my life. I do not know where she is now and I don't really care. But on this day I always remember what might have been.

The world is celebrating fathers' day. I'm alone in my flat listening to Haydn, cooking shoulder of lamb and generally avoiding the world. It is my day to mourn. A wise woman said to me a long time ago that it is "okay to mourn for yourself". Up until then I simply saw myself as self indulgent and lazy. There are days now that I feel the same. But not today.

The catastrophic breakdown that ensued a year after that letter arrived is well documented. Not all is lost though. I have a vocation that would never have been without that letter. I survived. People think what I do is important. And I'm on the verge of turning 50. That was never on the cards on that dark day.

Some friends from those days came back into my life. Ros, Rebecca, both of whom knew Rachel well. My other former singing colleagues too. Music seemed to die that day. I no longer actively engage in music but I have rediscovered it. Tomorrow my friend's daughter Eliza will undertake her grade 7 violin. And she asked me for advice. I struggle to read music now but I still have value even if it is to a girl I barely know. I wish her well tomorrow.

Another working week begins then and I march on. Seems slow going today in my loneliness. The good days will come again though. Until then I bid you a good afternoon.

I Heard a Voice.