Dear Patsy,

I miss you. I wish I could talk to you. I wish you could be here, just for tonight, so that you could hold me and say all the things that would make me feel better. I don't want you to worry, I've just had an awful day on the ward. I've seen the pain these cases have caused you but somehow I still wasn't prepared. I felt helpless.

I feel helpless.

I promise tomorrow I will wake up and soldier on but tonight I am letting myself fall apart, just a little bit, so that I can imagine you putting me back together again. I just wanted you to know that.

I also think you should know that Trixie is back, and she is more than a little mad that you left and no one thought to inform her so you may want to flatter her a little in your next postcard. She's been quite flat since her return, with you and Sister Mary Cynthia gone at the same time, and I may have promised her that you would be home before the summer… so you better not make a liar of me.

At least I have some good news to tell you, Sister Ursula has finally left us. I think she began to realise that perhaps Sister Julienne had things in hand after all, possibly prompted by a stern talking to from Phyllis after the Sister made poor Barbara cry.

Speaking of Phyllis, we owe her a bottle of something expensive. I won't explain it all now because I know how you'll get but she has been a godsend since you left. She's taken over the cubs (God help them) and she's been incredibly kind to me. She even lent me a book of Spanish poems from her private collection.

Under her strict instruction I have since returned the book but I made sure to copy down a few of the poems that have been brought me comfort in hopes they could do the same for you. If I imagine you reading the words I can almost pretend you are here with me.

"Never let me lose the marvel/of your statue-like eyes, or the accent/the solitary rose of your breath/places on my cheek at night.

I am afraid of being, on this shore,/a branchless trunk, and what I most regret/is having no flower, pulp, or clay/for the worm of my despair.

If you are my hidden treasure,/if you are my cross, my dampened pain,/if I am a dog, and you alone my master,

Never let me lose what I have gained,/and adorn the branches of your river/with leaves of my estranged Autumn."

There are people here who love you Pats… I love you. So please don't let yourself forget that, even for a moment.

I hope to hear from you soon,

Love Delia.