My children can't settle in the dark. Neither can I. I check them all as soon as I wake, in case one didn't make it this far. I know my partner does the same. I lie awake silently listening to him sneak from room to room, recognising the pattern of his footsteps and dreading hearing anything different.
One night in August 2014, my popular, witty, academic, artistic and beautiful 16-year-old step-daughter took her own life. I really don't believe that we could have seen it coming. Seventeen months of over-thinking has yet to do anything but confirm that.
She thought she knew how much this would hurt us - so she must have been hurting so much to actually do it. She left a huge note, and when I think of her writing it my heart aches. She must have felt beyond despair.
Elspeth had been angry and sometimes aggressive since she was tiny. She had little control over her mood swings and she hated that loss of self-restraint much more as she got older. She really struggled to accept a diagnosis of Asperger's, to understand that it was only a label.
She said it would be easier for us now, but it gives me no comfort to know that I'll never deal with her frustrations and anger again. Those were a part of Elspeth, and you take everything that your child offers, good or bad.
We now live in a world where children die. In our reality your sister can be gone overnight. A member of your family can secretly be that unhappy, even as they laugh and make jokes at the dinner table.
It's nearly 18 months since Elspeth took her own life, but we're still very broken people. We've had two major meltdowns to deal with today. There's been screaming, shouting and crying - and no one can find any real explanation as to why.
The only one who doesn't regularly have emotional outbursts is our five-year-old. He's finally started going to the toilet by himself, though he will rarely enter an empty room alone and never without absolute necessity. My seven-year-old wakes his brother and they carry a torch with them for night time toilet trips.
My seven-year-old needs several minutes to say goodbye or goodnight. He does it sometimes with tears in his eyes, because he knows he may never see you again. It's not paranoia if it's a real possibility. If it already happened then it's not something you can change to make it go away.
Recently one of our teenagers was very ill and spent four months in hospital, only recently returning home; my partner reached his personal limit back in November, earning his own stay in hospital by trying (and thankfully failing) to have a heart attack.
When you lose a child to suicide you become unable to trust your own judgement. I question my ability to parent, to give any advice, to make decisions, to say the right thing. I give up immediately when a task becomes even a little difficult. I have become a person to whom life happens.
We all lost our way a little after Elspeth's death, and although everyone seems to be getting slowly back on track, it's uncertain where we're going to end up. Still, we keep walking.
We keep walking because we have our lives to live. We have a new life, and it's much harder at times, but we can't waste it. We can't let the rest of forever for our children be defined by what happened to their sister.
I collect our smiles each month on my blog using #tbcsmiles so I can see the distance we've already travelled. I measure it in smiles. They are the the reason and the reminder why we keep going. I can look back and see it was never all bad, and I know it never will be. I wish that Elspeth had collected her own smiles, that she had been able to see them.
Child Bereavement UK support families and professionals with the loss of a child of any age, or when a child is facing bereavement.
Winston's Wish are the UK's leading charity for bereaved children. They offer advice and support for anyone who will find it helpful, including children who have lost a loved one to suicide.
Survivors of Bereavement by Suicide (SOBS) offers support for anyone over 18 who has been bereaved or affected by a suicide.