My day was filled with over-thinking and tears.
It plodded along slowly and every minute felt like an hour.
I wanted to be held but there is nobody here — so I busied myself with meaningless tasks.
I find a walk in the fresh air can often break down the bones of melancholia and return me to myself.
So I walked to the Post Office to collect my mail.
Instead of being met with bills and love-letters from debt collectors, there was a card — that had been sent from Perth.
I opened it with the excitement of a child.
It was a Christmas card and a handwritten letter from my 90 year-old Aunty.
My elderly aunties and uncles who outlived my Mum and Dad are my only connection to them now.
As I read her words that capture the challenges of living for nine long decades — I could feel my soul starting to refill.
My aunty talked about how she could no longer cook and now has to have her meals delivered to the house.
She talked about her gratefulness for her wins at Bingo and still being able to drive.
It’s amazing how a bunch of words thrown on to a page can make someone’s day.
I gently tucked her letter back into the card and put it into the envelope.
I walked the long way home with vigour.
I was a different girl to the one who had left only twenty minutes ago.