Heading to my room and closing the door, I lay down on my bed and took a letter out of my pocket.
Poring over every single word on the page, I read it over and over again.
It was from my mum Tina, 32.
Having had me at just 19, life had been difficult for her and so from the age of six my grandparents had taken care of me.
But Mum and I still had such a close bond and we saw each other all the time.
We’d go on bike rides and picnics, she taught me how to swim and we made windchimes out of shells from the beach near our home on the Gold Coast in Queensland, Australia.
It was so wholesome.
We also wrote a constant stream of letters to each other.
I had over 100 stashed away in a box and whenever I was really missing Mum, I’d read
