Losing him was like having a hole shot straight through me, a painful, constant reminder, an absence I could never fill.

I could barely even say Will's name. And listening to their tales of family relationships, of thirty-year marriages, shared houses, lives, children, I felt like a fraud. I had been a carer for someone for six months. I'd loved him, and watched him end his life. How could these strangers possibly understand what Will and I had been to each other during that time? How could I explain the way we had so swiftly understood each other, the shorthand jokes, the blunt truths and raw secrets? How could I convey the way those short months had changed the way I felt about everything? The way he had skewed my world so totally that it made no sense without him in it?

It is important not to turn the dead into saints. Nobody can walk in the shadow of a saint.

No journey out of grief was straightforward. There would be good days and bad days.

You don't have to let that one thing be the thing that defines you.

So this is it. You are scored on my heart, Clark.