‘It’s all beautiful,’ I say, knowing part of me simply wants Pia to be as close to Zaza and Liam’s news as possible, imagining her face as she absorbs the miracle our friends have been given.

We venture further away from the crowd so that there’s nothing but sea in front of us, and come to a stop.

Taking a deep breath, I reach into my pocket and pull out the little paper bag. A mixture of emotions hit earlier when I looked into her urn and saw just how much of her has already been scattered. It’s what I wanted, of course, but as each particle of her ashes reconnects with the world, it also leaves me behind.

Grief remains the hardest thing I know I’ll ever experience. I have no doubt that nothing will ever hit as hard as not being able to stop those final moments from happening and being forced to let Pia go. Yet through her death she’s taught me how to live. I still laugh, love, go on spontaneous adventures and make the most of opportunities that come along. It’s not the life I had planned by a long stretch, but it’s one I’ve been able to find happiness and purpose in nonetheless.

Years ago I found myself wondering, ‘Is this it?’, but now I realize that no one moment is ever it. The world keeps turning, life keeps going, deaths occur, babies are born, hearts are broken and mended again. Life happens and there’s nothing you can do to stop it rolling once it starts. In your whole lifetime it only stops once, when you reach the end. Until then you have to be prepared for the lows and highs, the struggle and joy, the hurt and love – whatever you land on, you will keep moving. You will keep going. Because that is the difference between life and death.

I pour the contents of the bag out on to my hand, aware of the fragments that drift away in the breeze.

I close my eyes and I see her face.

My hand closes, instinctively wanting to keep her close.

I hold her for a moment or two.

I hold her.

I hold her.

I hold her.

And then I let her go.

Acknowledgements