A year on, it still feels like the most tasteless kind of joke. These days, my only sources of intimacy and hugs and comfort, and my only reasons for putting one foot in front of the other, are my daughters, Stella and Nancy. At least I don’t have to sleep alone. They find their way into their parents’ bed every night. These days, they form the bread of our family sandwich and I’m the grief-stricken, silently weeping filling.
