I have a stock-standard answer that I give when people ask me – and they always ask me – how I survived the death of my daughter Georgie several years ago.
And it’s this: I was saved by friends and strangers; one lasagne at a time.
It’s true. In those early weeks and months when my strangled heart was so desperately heavy that it threatened to drag me below the waves – small kindnesses were my driftwood. Lasagnes appeared on my doorstep.
Cards and flowers and letters and homemade baby socks and Christmas decorations bearing my daughter’s name arrived in the mail.