I thought I knew everything about my family until my mother passed away unexpectedly. I felt lost without her. To remember her, I moved back into the old house where I grew up, surrounded by cherished memories, pictures on the walls, her favorite books, and the familiar scent of lavender.
One day, I felt drawn to the attic, especially a closet that had always been a mystery. My mom never discussed what was inside, and as a child, I never asked. But now, I was ready to explore.
On a rainy afternoon, I opened the closet door. Dust danced in the light as I pulled out a box filled with postcards, unfamiliar photos, and jewelry I’d never seen her wear. Among the items was an old letter addressed to my mother. Its yellowed paper felt ancient, and I wondered why she had kept it hidden.
Curiosity took over as I opened the envelope. The letter began with an apology for not writing sooner. It was from someone named John, reminiscing about their past together. As I read, I discovered he had loved her deeply and hinted that the man I knew as my father was not my biological dad.
The realization hit me hard. My entire life had been based on a lie. I felt a mix of anger and confusion. Who was this John, and why did my mom never tell me about him? I knew I had to uncover the truth.
The next day, I visited Mrs. Natalie, our neighbor who knew my mom well. I asked her about John. She explained that he was a man my mother once loved but had vanished from her life, leaving her with a painful memory. I left her house with more questions than answers.
Driven by a need to learn more, I followed clues to a small town where John might be living. When I finally found his house, my heart raced. John opened the door, recognizing me immediately. He welcomed me in, and I learned he had loved my mother and never knew about me until years later. He had chosen to stay away to respect the life she had built.
After our conversation, I returned home, feeling a mix of emotions. I knew I had to tell my dad, David, about everything I had discovered. When I shared the news, he listened patiently and expressed his love for me. “Emma”, he said gently: “You are my daughter, no matter what”.
In the end, I found peace within myself. I decided to build a relationship with John while cherishing the bond I had with David. What mattered most was the love we shared, no matter the secrets of the past.
Australia’s adopted popstar son Leo Sayer reflects on his career
“I look at my role as being a friend of Canberra Hospital, I can bring some pleasure and happiness sometimes to people who are really in difficult times in their lives.”
With backing music from a Bluetooth speaker, Sayer croons his way around the cancer wards, making a human connection with everyone he comes across.
Canberra Region Cancer Centre Operations Manager Caroline McIntyre says Sayer’s visits are typically kept a surprise for patients and staff.
“He’s always come in so discreetly,” she says.
“Normally it’s just very quiet, he comes up in the back lift and says hello to literally everybody.
“Some of them are doing it tough, and to have a little bit of joy and light – it really gives them a lift.
“What makes me happy is to see people getting chemo on their feet dancing.”
Jamming with Jimi Hendrix, Countdown and the Troubadour
Originally a graphic designer by trade, English-born Leo Sayer rose to pop prominence in London in the late 1960s, as a singer-songwriter – and was soon adopted by Australia as an honorary son after his first tour here in 1974.
He went on to become an Australian citizen in 2009.
Sayer was a regular on ABC TV’s Countdown during the 70s and 80s, performing chart-toppers like “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing”, “When I Need You”, “More Than I Could Say” and “Orchard Road”.
He blushingly admits they were wild days – when he didn’t always live up to his “good-guy” public persona.
“It was mad, I mean, Top of the Pops in England, Countdown over here,” he says.
“You were mobbed by the fans, I remember being dragged out of a limousine the first tour that I came here, and then speaking to crazy people like Molly Meldrum on TV and trying to sort of like take it all in.”
It seems hard to believe – the petite, well-spoken singer, with a mane of curly hair that inspired changing his name from Gerard to Leo – beating off mobs of screaming fangirls.
Sayer circulated in superstar company, becoming close friends with former Beatles George Harrison and Paul McCartney, collaborating with Roger Daltrey of The Who, and even sharing a sly cigarette or two with John Lennon and Yoko Ono who had a flat above his design studio.
“I met Jimi Hendrix right at the start of his career. I actually jammed with him, playing the harmonica, and him playing the guitar,” he says.
Recalling his 1975 opening night at the famous Troubadour Club in Los Angeles, he looked up to see an intimidating line-up of fans in the front row.
“It was David Bowie, Elton John, and ‘The Fonz’ [Henry Winkler].”
Alongside them: John Cleese, Mick Jagger, Bernie Taupin, and comedian Marty Feldman.
“We never thought it would last, we were adapting to things around us, writing songs about things that are around us,” he says.
“And we thought they were only for our generation — so the amazing thing is my music’s become like a fine wine, where you lay it down and years later, it becomes a collector’s item.
“We’re in an age where the music that I make, young kids are actually latching onto it now, and they’re finding that that generation and that style of music we made is as current now as anything.”
Sayer’s health battles, still spreading hope at 76
Leo Sayer says his hospital charity work caps off a career dedicated to providing joy through music.
“It’s a nice piece of synchronicity really, because I was born in the grounds of a hospital in Shoreham by Sea in Sussex, near Brighton in England,” Mr Sayer said.
“I suppose I’ve always felt comfortable in hospitals and being around hospitals.
“Growing up, my dad was a hospital engineer, Mum was a nurse, my sister was a matron.”
Sayer has health struggles of his own, including three stents in his heart, which help him have a genuine connection to the hospital patients he entertains.
“[My music] is providing something that isn’t taking away from any of the treatment that’s going on. It’s providing something that’s just putting a smile on peoples’ faces.
“Music is communication and that’s what this is all about, we’re communicating, we’re making people feel better.
“We’re not healing people with music, but we are making them feel better about their healing.
“To sell out Canberra Hospital will do me fine.”
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