My nana was my favourite person in the world. From as young as three, Mum would drop me off at church, help me put my backpack on and I’d waddle in to meet Nana. During worship, we’d cuddle through the songs. She was an amazing singer; I was tone-deaf. She’d whisper to me, “You have an amazing voice . . . you’re not quite hitting it . . . we can get you there.” This is what my Saturday looked like every week until I moved away for university at 18. I always felt so loved by her—but she was the exception.
It takes a village to heal a child
