amy winehouse
As the 10th Anniversary of AMY WINEHOUSE’S death Approaches, her mum JANIS celebrates her life And sets the record straight
On the day Amy died, the phone rang and my husband Richard took the call. His mum was seriously ill, so when he came to me and said “She’s gone”, I thought he was talking about his mum. But then he said, “Your baby’s gone.” I was numb.
The hours that followed felt like a blur. Amy’s dad, Mitch, flew back from New York and we stood in the living room and hugged and cried. But the hard, cold reality only really hit when I went to identify the body. Amy looked like she was asleep in her bed. I wanted to say, “Amy, get up, it’s time to go to school.”
If I could describe being Amy’s mum in one word it would be “interesting”. She says it in her lyrics – “I was a flame”. My Amy was a firecracker. As a little girl, it was as though she was mishearing me, because whenever I said “don’t” she seemed to think I meant “do”. She was feisty, always spoke her mind and always did what she wanted. She sang constantly and we were always telling her to shut up.
I was probably a bit of a pushover but I was a good mother – the mother I didn’t have and would have liked. My mum was self-involved and uninterested in what I was doing. I wanted to be there for my kids. And that’s what gave us such a close bond – Amy could always talk to me.
She always had an addictive personality but it’s only with hindsight that I can see that. Looking back, she seemed like a normal teen doing what normal teens do. And of course, 99% of what normal teenagers do is done behind their parents’ backs. With me and in front of family, she was always so sweet and constantly apologising. She pushed the boundaries but if she swore in front of me she’d say, “I’m sorry, Mummy, I’m sorry.”
Even when her career took off, she stayed the same. Whenever she came home, she was the same person. Even when her personal life became chaotic, she was clean when she came home. She wouldn’t even smoke in front of me.
Having spoken to her friends since she died, I’ve realised she compartmentalised her life. I think when she came home she wanted normality. It was her way of creating a safe space for herself, away from the noise of her fame.
Amy was so bright and always needed to be stimulated, which is why she found school boring. She loved English because she was so good with words but ultimately she liked singing more than maths or biology. One day, she came home with her report cards and she’d attached a cover letter telling me how I should approach the comments. She’d explained each of the teachers as if to temper my reaction – we were roaring with laughter.
Amy was an excellent songwriter because she wrote honestly and openly about her feelings, and people connected with that. It really hit me that her career had taken off when I saw her album advertised on a local billboard in Palmers Green. It was an amazing moment.
But she never let the fame go to her head. After she won the Ivor Novello [in 2007, for Best Contemporary Song with Rehab] she put it in her handbag and brought it to my house on the Tube. She said, “This thing is so heavy, Mum, can we keep it here?” She didn’t like having awards in her house and never listened to her own music. I think once the song was out there it was work, for her.
In her last few years, there were periods when she was doing really well but I was always aware the addiction
was still there. I was hopeful but it wasn’t resolved in my mind. The day before she died I met her at her house and we sat and looked at old photos. Amy had her arms around me and she kept kissing me on the cheek and saying, “I love you, Mummy.” It’s my most treasured memory of Amy because there was a closeness between us. I couldn’t have known it would be the last time I’d see her alive, but I’m always grateful we had that day.
In the weeks after her death, so many people showed up at the house. At one point, Mark Ronson and Kelly Osbourne were in our back garden, chatting about Amy. It’s one of those strange times I can look back on and feel almost dispassionate about it. Suddenly, my house didn’t belong to me any more. It was like I had to put on a performance, even at the funeral, which felt surreal.
We got hundreds of letters of sympathy and still do. I keep a lot of my sadness tucked away inside because then I can concentrate on the positives, which I’ve always done. And one thing I want people to know is no one could have done anything differently.
Amy had so much support and so many interventions; there were so many people supervising her. But she chose her own path. We have suffered from trolls and damaging speculation – accusations that Mitch just wanted to make money out of her, that we killed her, that we could have done more. It’s completely wrong. But addiction is a mental illness and that is the true villain in this story.
When Amy died everyone who knew her, or felt like they did, wanted somewhere to put their grief and anger. Mitch took the brunt of it and it’s unfair. There’s a misconception that Amy’s home life was fractured because we divorced – but we were not a family divided. Even after I separated from Mitch, we remained a unit. We’ve worked on the Amy Winehouse Foundation since Amy died and achieved some incredible things.
One thing that is frustrating is people still think of Amy as a drug addict. But Amy was probably on class A drugs for a year-and-ahalf, which is an incredibly small proportion of her life and does not define her. I watched the first 45 minutes of the Amy documentary on Netflix, where there were home videos of her as a child, and then I switched it off. That whole part of her life has been amplified but it’s time to correct the balance. Amy was vulnerable but she wasn’t weak. She got herself off the drugs, she was savvy and made her own decisions. Mitch is blamed for her going on her last tour but she chose that. She was a grown, wealthy woman – married, for some of it [to Blake Fielder-civil]. She wasn’t a kid and no one could force her to do anything.
In fact, her wealth made it harder because she didn’t have that rock-bottom moment in the same way perhaps other addicts have.
I suffered watching Amy’s illness being played out in public. My MS meant it was getting harder for me to physically be there for her. I couldn’t literally sweep in and put my wings around her. But then, I don’t think that would have helped. You are helpless when someone is in the throes of addiction.
As the 10-year anniversary of her death approaches, I’m OK with it. I’ve accepted she’s no longer physically here but I have this belief and sense that she’s around all the time.
Every year, we mark the anniversary in the same way – we go as a family to her grave and say prayers, then we go to a restaurant. It’s all about getting together and celebrating Amy. It is lovely but the way I spend those big days like anniversaries are often taken out of my hands because it has become tradition.
For me, I’ll go to her grave with Richard about 10 days before the anniversary, enjoy the space and think about Amy in the quiet.
I still meet fans sometimes, in Camden. I like being there because it feels like Amy. I wear a ring that Amy always wore and when one of her songs comes on the radio I think, “Hello, Amy.” I embrace those moments.
Since she died, all of the sides of Amy that she’d compartmentalised came together – and I welcome that. I’ve become friends with her friends and made connections worldwide.
I want Amy to be remembered as the sweet, talented girl she was. Even when she came home looking like Endora from Bewitched, with the big hair and eye flicks, she was still my Amy. She always was and she always will be. Reclaiming amy is on BBC Two at 9pm on Friday 23 July
‘I have this belief and sense that she’s around all the time’