As my five-year-old grandson Caiden made a sprint for the swings, I chased over and sat down beside him. ‘Let’s see who can go higher, Nana,’ he yelled, and side by side we swung into the afternoon sunshine, kicking our legs in the air. The simple joy of spending an active afternoon with my youngest grandchild made my spirits soar, and I realised just how far I’d come in a matter of months, after more than a decade of feeling sad and depressed. It had started when I lost my mum Wyn to breast cancer in 2010. I’d been her carer, devoting myself entirely to her, and losing her left a huge
