I haven't read the letter recently. In fact, I can't remember the last time I read it.
I certainly haven't digested it before, the way I did last night.
Every time I read it I understand it more; as a child, teenager, adult and now mother.
She wrote three letters in total; mine, one for my sister and one for my Dad. Each one different.
When I'd finished typing it last night I wept. The mother inside me was wondering "Where do you start a letter like that?", "How much is enough?".
I have a sample of the perfume she used to wear. I got it soon after my counselling had finished and put it away too frightened to open it.
I put a tiny dab on last night. At first I didn't recognise it, then suddenly it came flooding back. I could smell my Mum. I closed my eyes and imagined she had just walked past me.
A small comfort in a huge void.