I get pangs from time to time, missing you so much that it pains me to refrain from tearing up at work. And the thing that tends to get me started is when people talk about how loud and funny you were, how much you were loved by anyone and everyone.

I hope you don't blame me for wanting to keep you in the house instead of scattering you at sea. Dad seems heartbroken that you would want that; your sister thinks we should do what you wished. I, on one hand, want you to be free; on the other, I want to keep you by my side selfishly.

It hurts to know that I can't kiss your cheek anymore, or hook your arm in mine, or laugh at yet another of your DIY decorations. I can't taste your oatmeal prawns or get insulin jabs for you or joke about how bad your vegetables are.

And I can't stop crying in the bathroom at work. Why do these pangs hit the hardest at the most mundane of times?