Over the year I had traveled thousands of miles to discover new places and things only to truly discover myself. The incredible evolution I underwent has shaped me in to an almost recognizably conscious, empathetic, joyful person from where I started. The greatest journey any human take is that 13 inches from your head to heart.
When I was just eight years old, Christmas Day came to have a different, bittersweet meaning for me, compared to most lucky souls. Because when I was meant to be celebrating my eighth birthday (yes, I was born on 25 December), my Uncle Eddie, who lived next door, and to whom I was extraordinarily close, passed away in the early hours of that morning.
If at any point my own father came under public scrutiny and his memory was besmirched in the way the Daily Mail has with Ralph Miliband's memory and legacy, I'm not sure how I would react. But I'd certainly feel dismay for my family and wonder in whose world it was alright to attack someone who can't defend defend themselves.
Many of the events that occurred in the early weeks of our new life are a blur that I can barely remember. However, I can vividly recall the amount of energy that surviving them consumed and the overwhelming tiredness that resulted (and lasted for about nine weeks). The simplest of tasks seemed almost unmanageable, exhausting and strangely scary.
"Grief feels like fear" - wrote C. S. Lewis and when my phone rang one morning three years ago, I knew instinctively that something was wrong. My daughter's best friend had gone missing from school the day before so when the Head of Pastoral Care told me that Naomi had died I was shocked, but not surprised. She had committed suicide. She was just 17.