They tell you that daughters-in-law aren't meant to get on with mothers-in-law. You grow up learning that it’s like oil and water. Like orange juice and toothpaste. Well, they didn't know Jill. They didn't know that the clocks stopped the moment she died. They didn't know how funny she was, how down-to-earth, how dry. They didn’t know how special her late-night chats were - advice given with a glass of red in hand and a knowing smile that reached her eyes. They didn’t know that sometimes adverts made her cry, her favourite colour was orange, and that she loved her family more than anything else in the world. Jill, I’ve watched your family emerge from tragedy with such grace and strength - you would be so proud. Naturally, you would have hated the fuss - but Gordon Bennett, you would be so proud! To call you my 'mother-in-law' seems like an injustice. It feels pejorative. It falls out of the mouth clumsily. Jill was and forever will be a friend, a mother, a confidante. Above all, she will be missed.