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Dear Amy,

I HOPE you understand why I'm writing this. We have spoken recently but many people will wonder why I haven't run down to whatever hotel you're staying in, scooped you up and taken you home for a hot bath and a steaming bowl of chicken soup.

It's because your father and I know what you're like, Amy.

We want to help you, but we know that unless you want to be helped— unless you come to us—anything we tried would be in vain.

So this letter is my way of making sure that you know that—that all you have to do is come to us, Amy, and we'll do everything in our power to get you well again.

After all, you are still my baby and you always will be.

I pile hope upon hope that you will make that decision, Amy, and your strong will can bend for just a moment to make that decision and come home to me.

Strong

Even when you were only a rosy-cheeked five-year-old singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror, you had a will as stubborn as a mule. Do you remember?

We couldn't ever get you to see things from any angle other than your own. You could swear day was night and Heaven help anyone who tried to disagree.

You were never a wayward daughter but you always had a strong will and a mind of your own—qualities your father and I were so proud of.

You were well brought up, you had a keen sense of right from wrong and you understood the values we always impressed on you as a family.

But you would never be pressurised or influenced into doing something if your heart wasn't in it.

I know there's no point in me ringing you, fussing over you or ordering you to do something. I need you to take that first step, darling. I need you to call me, to pick up that phone and tell me what's troubling you.

Your father and I would like nothing more—wherever you are, whatever you need, we're here for you day and night. I hope you know that. We were terrified after we saw those pictures of you earlier this week, wandering the freezing streets of London at dawn in your underwear. All I wanted to do was rush into those pictures and wrap you up in a big, warm blanket.

Do you remember those Decembers long ago when I used to swaddle you in a thick winter coat? I used to wrap you up and give you a kiss on the nose before you went out to play in the cold.

"Don't worry about me Ma, I'll be fine!" you used to laugh. But, like any mother, of course I worried. Just as I'm worrying now.

Because I know that however big, grown-up and successful my Amy gets, she still needs the love of her Ma.

Do you remember on January 14 this year, when your album got to number one? Do you remember how overjoyed your father and I both were? We shed tears of joy for you that night.

And not just because we were delighted for your success, that you had finally fulfilled that childhood dream of singing your heart out in front of millions. But also because finally, the whole country thought our little girl was just as special as we knew you were.

Some wonderful things have happened since that night, darling, but also some not so wonderful. Blake, your husband, might not be my favourite person—you know that, Amy—but he's your choice and I would never say anything about him to hurt you.

When I was quoted recently as saying "Thank God Blake's inside" what I meant was that putting him in jail might help him to clean up HIS act and change HIS life.

It wasn't said out of viciousness or to upset you. If your relationship is meant to be, it will survive.

I'm a great believer that everything in life happens for a reason, a purpose. And if you two are destined to be together forever, then so be it.

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But I want you to love Blake for who he is, Amy. Not because you feel sorry for him, or because he can get you doped up. Not for any other reason than that you have respect for him.

I completely understand and sympathise with how you feel heartbroken over your separation and I'd do anything to help you end that unhappiness.

No mother likes to see her child suffering like that.

Having to cancel your tour, as well, has been very sad. But I know it's happened for the best.

Despite disappointing all of your fans, who I know you treasure so much, maybe it will pull you up and make you stop and think and take stock of where your life is going.

I pray it does. I hope it makes you realise that although you might be a superstar, you're not superwoman.

Early fame has overwhelmed you, it's dizzied you and muddled your mind. For a moment, forget you're a superstar. You're also young and vulnerable. Remember you're just an ordinary human being, no stronger than any of the rest of us. You think you're strong enough to get through this on your own, darling, but you're not.

I want you back, and I'll make you fitter and stronger. I'd like nothing better than to have you home and help you put on a bit of weight with some wholesome home cooking.

You're at your happiest in family situations, I remember. It's part of that strong Jewish tradition you were raised in. Remember how you spent time with my sister before the gig in Newcastle the other week? You felt comfortable and at ease. That's how I know family is important to you.

Destiny

But I can't force you to do something you don't want to. You have to want it to happen darling, you have to ask for it.

Me and your father, and your brother Alex all want you to be happy and quickly restored to full health. For the moment, that's all of our priorities.

We are concerned, but we're not panicking. You've got to see things in your own time and I'm sure you will.

You are a brilliant talent, of course, and if you get yourself well, you'll be able to go on and fulfil your destiny.

You're a true professional who thrives on work and you need to get back into that routine.

We know you don't want to let your fans down. We know how important they are to you and how once you're over this present setback you'll give them a show they'll never forget.

You know I'm an optimist, and that I think, with our help, you will get back on top of things.

But I know you must come to me first for that to happen.

I just hope that, because of this letter, you do. Pick up the phone.

All my love, Ma