I thought I might write something about my niece's funeral, which took place a week ago, about the gentleness of the words uttered in the country church where we said our farewells to her, about the sweetness of the songs sung in her memory, about the tidal wave of love that rose from those who had come to remember her and which, we hoped, would help to carry her children through the saddest day of their lives.
I would have written of these things if the unimaginable had not happened. On Tuesday, her mother - my brother's wife of more than half a century, the wife whose carer he has been for the past two years - died in her sleep. In the past year, my brother has lost two of his children and his wife.
Words do not usually fail me but, for once, I find myself struggling to find words to try to make sense of it all but there are no words; there is no sense to be made.
All I can do in quiet moments, is set down my memories of my vibrant, funny, loving sister-in-law, set them down before time begins to dilute them.