The simplest things are now so hard.

Everyone tells you why.

They speak about the weight of grief — and they are right.

The weight is extraordinary.

The old you no longer exists.

Your social capacity is no longer there.

Your confidence, your ease, your sense of self in the world — all altered.

But something as simple as sitting in front of a small group of ten people to read Do You Look at the Sky? felt overwhelming. Enormous.

My sister and my friend stood on the sidelines, quietly cheering me on. They made sure they were in my line of sight so I could focus only on them if I needed to. Anchors in the room. Safe faces.

This was the first group of strangers I had ever shared the book with.

Breathing through the words felt heavy.

So many tears sat at the back of my throat, waiting.

The emotion rose with every page.

It was an outdoor session at a wellbeing retreat — safe, secure — and still overwhelming. Still terrifying.

As I read, the wind began to whirl around us, almost lifting the shade structure above. I remember thinking…Was that Coop? Was he pushing me gently forward? Telling me to keep going?

There was no time for feedback at the end. The next session was starting. People gathered their things and moved on.

But it didn’t matter.

It was never about applause.

It was about bravery.

It was about showing up.

About honouring Coop.

About finding my voice again — even if it shakes.

My sister celebrated like I had stood on the biggest stage in the world. She is my number one fan.

And maybe, just maybe, so is he.