I pluck the dreamy opening notes and my heart fills up when I look down onto the rows of tiny faces in front of me, some leaning their faces in their hands, some swaying along and others even mouthing the lyrics as I sing. When it comes to the chorus they all join in and I give up disguising the tears that flow from my eyes.

Your lucky number, lucky star, will keep you safe when near or far

Angels watching you and me, guiding light so you can see

Every step that you will take, even when you make mistakes

Doesn’t matter where you are, lucky number, lucky star

We all applaud at the end of the song and I put the guitar back on the stand, feeling a new energy that I haven’t had for a long time. The sun is shining outside, the children I teach are blessings sent from above, my brother is doing better as each day passes and I know that Tom, although he isn’t here with me in person, is in my heart and will always be, even if it’s not in the way that I’d always dreamed of.

‘Thank you, Gracie,’ I say to the little girl who encouraged me just now. ‘You’ve made me smile again, right from the tips of my toes.’

Gracie gives me a toothy grin and gets on with drawing another picture, but alas her artwork has to be interrupted as I announce for the class to take out their arithmetic books. As always, this is met with a series of groans and I marvel at the honesty of children, who keep me on the tips of my toes every single day. Music is my inner passion, my great love, but teaching is what gets me up every day and gives me that sense of purpose that Tom and I spoke of on that day in December. I don’t feel as if he has really left me yet. I don’t think he ever will.

While I fill my days with the joys of little people, in the evenings I make the short journey out to Malahide to the respite and rehabilitation centre where Matthew has been recently moved for long-term residential care. The hospital promotes a home-from-home environment for patients with acquired brain injuries and Matthew is enjoying the taste of independence, where the focus is on dignity and social activities as well as recovery.

‘You look nice,’ he says to me, when I make my way into the lemon and grey decorated single room which we have personalized for him with photos, music stations and memories of his life from before the accident in a bid to make it cosy and comfortable for him. A multi-coloured blanket knitted by Mam sits over his feet, and I’m glad to see him out in his chair instead of lying in bed.