Nobody knows that I still tread the same walking route that we did during his last year. Nobody knows that I stop and sit by the stream that he loved playing in, have a sip of juice and picture him splashing in the water. Nobody knows that I feel the tall reeds in my fingers, in a scene reminiscent of Gladiator, through the long meadow grass that he would bounce happily along in. Then I look over to the wall that he trundled down from on the night that the first death of the year happened and feel so disconsolate. Just for a second. Every time I reach that spot. And nobody knows how I let it consume me, just for a second. Then I continue with each step, as I do with every burden. I'll sometimes walk for miles through the hills, watching out for swifts or cuckoos or hares or deer. I'll stop every now and then to let it overwhelm me. Then I'll circle back home where I'll carry on as I always do, successfully compartmentalising the grief for another week.