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Late one night H and I were chatting as I settled her to sleep. We’ve removed the traditional Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for the utterly horrid Twinkle Twinkle Chocolate Bar, and every night H has to nominate a daddy that I sing about (yes, I know, and yes, if H knows you or your husband, I’ll have sung about you), and one night she asked for me to sing about my daddy.

Afterwards we went over the few little bits I tell her about my dad – asking her if she knows who he is (“Grandad Mike” she’ll reply) but this time she piped up afterwards “He’s in Australia! Does he go on holiday?”

I had to reply that no, he doesn’t live in Australia, he’s dead. But then I didn’t know what to say. I’ve got all the death books lined up for the day I feel like she’s old enough to understand. I talked about it with Shaun later on and we think right now she thinks of Australia as a place people who she doesn’t see often go to – which would be why she’d think of my dad. (though she never met him) She knows my side of the family are in York, but doesn’t think of my dad from there. It must be so confusing having to process things like death. Part of me thinks maybe we need a pet, like a fish or something. Nothing too taxing or difficult to look after. But something to give her a way of understanding it all – slowly.

I don’t know.