Dear Nan, I remember on one of our weekends out together, I brought along a notebook I was writing a story in. I was nine years old and – like for all nine year olds – my notebook was eighty-nine pages of nonsense. Regardless, you said you were going to read it whilst Grandad took Wyatt and I around the heritage sight. When I got back to the car, you told me you had read every word. I didn’t believe you at first and I started testing you on the plot-line. You got every question right… I was in awe. It seems strange to think it now, that when I was that young, your kindness touched my heart with its soft finger tips, but here I am now, and I’ve never forgotten it. I wanted to write you something else to read, from up there up in the stars. I tried writing a poem, the other day, but my wording sounded artificial. Then, I realised my words will always sound like that because it will never be as natural as yours, how you breathed kindness, generosity and love into our lives. My words are powerless compared to that.