‘To show you off, of course. And maybe to do a tiny bit of boasting that I’ve met Maxie, too.’

As the day of her flight approached, Eliza’s anxiety levels rose. It wasn’t just the thought of the flight. The packing kept prompting bad memories of packing up the house after her mother died. After four sleepless nights and too many daytime hours spent with a racing heart, she knew she had to do something. She took out her address book, found the clinic’s number and made an appointment.

Three days before her flight, Eliza caught the tram and got off at the familiar stop in Camberwell. She’d come here once a fortnight for nearly three years. From the outside, it looked like a normal house in the leafy inner-eastern suburb. She was early, as always. She sat in the waiting room. Her hands were clenched. Her breathing was tight. She was overwhelmed with memories of the many hours she’d spent here, as she’d tried to get answers to impossible questions. Was it my fault Mum died? Was there something I should have done? Should I have helped her to stop drinking? Was it my fault for going away with Maxie? Could I have stopped it from happening? And the most unanswerable question of all. How do I live without her?

Her counsellor, Caroline, greeted her with her usual warm professionalism. ‘It’s good to see you again, Eliza. Tell me, why are you here today?’ The same question had opened all her appointments.

Eliza told her the truth. The stone was back. She could feel it deep inside her. It had never really gone away, she knew. Sometimes it grew lighter, or shifted, but it was always part of her. A stone made of pain, grief and guilt. Caroline talked it through with her again, as she had so many times before. Told her, again, that she wasn’t responsible for her mother’s death. It was an accident. The coroner had said so, the police had said so. A tragic accident. She had to look at the facts, as the inquest had done. Re-read the last email her mother had sent. Remind herself how much she’d been loved.

Eliza explained all that had happened in the past days. Her job, her flat, the imminent flight. How it had all triggered her anxiety again. How it was affecting her sleep. How she was reliving scenes she never wanted to see again, but never wanted to forget, either.

Caroline took her through helpful breathing exercises again. Reminded her to keep updating what they’d previously named Eliza’s ‘jukebox of memories’. Happy images and stories about her mother that Eliza could choose from whenever she was feeling troubled, overwhelmed or panicked.

Caroline helped her work through another recurring question too: about her own mental health. Was she destined to follow in her mother’s footsteps? Find life as difficult as Jeannie had? Yet again, Caroline was reassuring. She gently praised her for already having sought professional help with her anxiety. For taking the good step of avoiding alcohol. Small steps with helpful outcomes, she said.