My brother died three years ago and for a long time nobody in my family said his name. We all thought we were protecting each other. Really, we were each grieving alone in the same house.

Last Christmas my mum put his photo on the table and told a story about him stealing the last piece of cake every year. We laughed and then we all cried, and it was the first time it felt like he was with us instead of missing from us.

Grief doesn't go away, but I've learned it gets lighter when it's shared. Say their names. Tell their stories.