It was going to be a different trip because we are a different family now. Photograph: iStock I realise with horror that we might be the tipsiest people in the queue for the Anne Frank House. We are not monsters. We did not wander off a hen’s party booze cruise with willy straws in our hair. It’s hard to know where to start this story, but it is probably the point when my parent’s youngest grandchild died suddenly just after his fifth birthday. I do not think my family is special. Grief doesn’t have a unit of measurement. No family...