It was 6:31am. I don’t normally wake this early on a Sunday but for some reason I felt compelled to check my Twitter feed.

The first Twit I saw read “REPORT: Amy Winehouse, found dead in London apartment – aged 27”

A strange feeling swept over me as I lay in my bed, head poking out of my warm doona, glazy eyed looking into my iPhone. Was it true? Perhaps it was yet another overdose and she was in hospital. But the more I scrolled up my feed, it became apparent the famous soul singer was gone.

I first fell in love with Amy’s music many years ago. With a sore heart from a breakup, I discovered her infectious album ‘Back to Black’ and just was blown away by that voice. I remember telling a friend at the time when I first heard it, I imagined it to be some Aretha Franklin lookalike. But no, it was a small London gal with a huge, deep voice.

I’ve followed her in the headlines. Her infamous break-ups, her substance abuse, falling out of nightclubs. A few years ago this news probably wouldn’t have shocked me but reading it today, I was very much shocked.

She seemed to have gotten her life back on track. Cutting the drugs, the bad people and looking relatively healthy. We get only a small amount of what’s really going on in a public person’s life through the tabloids but from what I had seen, it looked like Amy had really cut those terrible things from her life and started fresh.

The latest I’ve heard is that it wasn’t drug related and more that simply her poor, tainted body had been put through so much and she had been suffering seizures from drinking in excess. And that’s what killed her. The thing she sang about numbing the pain, ultimately ended her short life.

Although I never knew Amy, I feel like I did know her. She sang for anyone who’s ever suffered a break-up, sat on their kitchen floor and wondering what went wrong. Her lyrics spoke volumes for the tremendous talent she had and that’s something I hope will live on.

Rest in peace Amy.