My husband would travel in his little pale blue mini car from Saxmundham to Clacton in Essex most weekends to see me. We loved pop music and would sit in his mini car on the cliff top at Frinton On Sea listening to Radio Caroline which was moored nearby.

I’ve been buying vinyl for my son since before his birth, writing Post-it notes for each one explaining why it matters. ‘Ghosteen’ is in that pile now. Maybe one day, when he’s older, we’ll listen to it together. And in that moment, three generations will be there, held together by music.

Our PlayStations were practically extensions of ourselves, where Aaron didn't have muscular dystrophy and I wasn't a type 1 diabetic. They allowed us to connect with each other to share and experience moments with our huge friend group.

Whenever George is on the radio I know she is with me and I play it loud and sing or even dance.

I remember when Jim was dying in the 90’s and Gram asked if she should go to London. And I said absolutely. She did and spent time with him and then he passed the day after she left to return back to NY.

Growing up far from my birthplace, I believed I would eventually lose my connection to Croatia and the roots my family has there. Only in recent years did I realise how wrong I was.

In a daze, I drifted through lessons and through the everyday routines of life. At home, we didn’t really talk about what had happened and didn’t express our feelings. There was no therapy or counselling, no hint of understanding.

My grandmother had a way with words that whenever she said your name, it would sound like music. It was something I really adored about her.

When my dad was 18 he walked past the army recruitment office in Wakefield and decided that was the way to avoid a life ‘down’t pit’ at Sharlston.  A young man with optimism and a hope that his life might be different.

… this wonderful song always reminded Mum of my Dad when he was working and after he passed away.

In those heady early days of being together, Ringo Starr’s ‘You’re Sixteen’ became our song. We were young and in love, he thought I was beautiful, he was the guy for me, and we were everything to each other.

My piece of music came to me a few months after Jenny died. It was given to me by a rockstar called Kevin, the frontman for a band called the Biscuit Brothers, who are world famous in Woodbridge, Suffolk.

He was a dairy farmer and loved his cows and before it was fashionable he played the radio whilst milking.

It is a song that is both uplifting and sorrowful at the same time. It will always be about love, just love - our love.

This song reminds me of John's bravery and positivity; he was adamant about not giving up, therefore I'm still shouting to the top in your memory John E.

The most intimate moment I had ever shared with my mum.

This song he chose for his funeral and I remember listening to it over and over to express my grief and try to find comfort and understanding of how he must have felt.

I still cannot bring myself to watch ‘Moulin Rouge’ …. It will always be OUR film and ‘Come What May’ will always be OUR song.

Sometimes I'd wait for her to ask me to put on the "ship song" as she referred to it, other times I'd offer it up right away just to see her face light up.

As long as we can remember, 
our Dad Noel would be humming a tune.