When your world is ripped to pieces, you have got to keep moving. One foot in front of the other, just keep moving. It is way too painful to sit still, to ponder, to breathe.

It's been three years since Jude's unexpected departure. Four hours after we had woken up to our different World and all the well-meaning and administrative people who had briefly stepped into our different existense had departed again, we were left on our own and had no idea what to do with ourselves. All we knew is that we could not sit still and we could not sit at home. So we got into our car with the dogs in the back and headed away from the city towards the West Coast and nothingness. We took a random turnoff towards the sea and walked and walked and walked - numb and stunned and broken and unbelieving that life could be so cruel or that we could find the will to fully live again.

And now three years have passed since that terrible day. We woke up today to two beautifully alive little girls - but the light, the feeling, the atmosphere were all the same as that morning and I marvel that we have survived. How could it actually be? We drove up the West Coast again and walked with the dogs and breathed in the sunny autumn sea air. We are no longer numb and stunned and broken but still very unbelieving that life could ever have been so cruel. Some days it is harder than before to find the will to live, most days are just a little less colourful than before, every day is varnished with the consciousness that Jude should be here, growing bigger and smarter, yet he isn't.

Most of all though, I am scared of forgetting this beautiful and busy child who catapulted me into the rollercoaster of motherhood, who changed my life completely, completely exhausted and energised me and who taught me all about selflessness. I so wish he could have met his two beautiful sisters who continue to teach me oh so much.

But we keep moving, one foot in front of the other, day by day. You have got to keep moving.

I last photographed this lovely family a year ago when Nicholas was just 4 months old. Now he's an active, busy toddler - in his element playing in mud, splashing in puddles and playing on tractors on a wine farm in Constantia.

It's an ordinary passage in an ordinary home, maybe six metres long.

It's the place where I painfully paced at the start of labour, your arrival beckoning. Up and down, up and down, your dad timing contractions and feeling helpless as he watched me writhe in pain

It's where I flung myself down dramatically on the floor from exhaustion in the middle of the night in your first colicky weeks ; desperate for your incessant cries to stop

It's where you practiced some of your first steps -  your dad and I stationed at opposite ends, grinning like cheshire cats and spurring you on with parental pride as you wobbled back and forth between us

Oh how you laughed delightedly as I chased you down that narrow strip, time and time again

And on the morning of your departure, the only thing that came to mind was to pace up and down that passage, your rigid body foreign in my horrified arms; utterly desperate for you to cry again

Your sister now shrieks with laughter and delight as I chase her naked body down the passage for bathtime

We run up and down, up and down, up and down

She excitedly points to the canvasses of you on the wall

"Baba!" she exclaims.

I tell her that that's her older brother, Jude. I wonder when the questions will start. What will I say? Will 'dead' be amidst the arsenal of her first words?

What would you look like today? Would you and your sisters love each other? Would your sisters even be here if you hadn't left?

What was the point of it all? What is the point of it all?

It's so hard to picture you as four.

Here she is - India Jane. She’s now nearly 3 weeks old.

Since we found Jude, Saturday mornings have never quite been the same for me - they have held the association with death and our change in perspective of the world. So it feels right that India arrived early on a Saturday morning - I now have a more recent and powerful association of life being brought into this world.

Breathing out deeply to ease the pain of childbirth in contrast to the pain of not wanting to breathe at all

Listening to India’s fiesty first breath on a gloomy June morning rather than imagining Jude’s last breath while the sun shone brightly outside.

Birth and death, all part of our experience on this earth, both painful and beautiful in some way.

This is completely new territory to us now - parenting a child over 18 months as well as parenting two at the same time.

Most people who’ve had 2 kids at the same time have told me how hectic it is, especially two kids under two. I’m not going to lie - there have been some very humorous and mad and mundane moments in our home lately. Over the past few days I have breastfed in positions I didn’t know that were possible, (while pushing a pram or running after or picking up Mikaela) calmly sang to myself while both kids are crying at the same time and have had many moments of wanting to tear my hair out to the insistent bleating that only a newborn baby can belt out.

Did I mention the sleep in 2 hour segments?

Yes, I've been tempted to crack open a bottle at midday - I’ve heard it’s great for breastmilk.

But mostly it feels good to be actually going through this madness rather than anticipating the madness. And there are so many sweet moments. Mikaela kissing her sister on the head (often followed by a hefty whack) and watching the two of them together. Witnessing Simon with his two girls. The moments between the madness. Mostly, the anticipation of life and of many mad moments in the future as a family.

Bring it on.

A few weeks back, Yabonga (a non-governmental organisation which supports women, men and children who are infected or directly affected by HIV/Aids) approached me to take some portraits of some of their community mothers in various townships around Cape Town, for a fundraising event in The Netherlands in a few weeks time. I spent a few hours in Khayaletsha, Phillipi and Samora Michelle, briefly visiting some of these women who open up their homes to their communities.

Everytime I go into these areas, I am left feeling humbled at the vibrance, enthusiasm and resourcefulness of the people who live there.

Rebecca and Bruce make up Love Made Visible - a kickass team who shoot the most beautiful and soulful images. They have been married for 2 years now and thought some recent images of the 2 of them would be a cool idea. It was such a pleasure traipsing around around Tokai and Muizenberg with this sweet, funky and genuine couple on a gorgeous autumn evening.

I did a shoot with Delmari and Gerrit when Eben was still a toddler - now they have a beautiful new addition to the family. These guys really do make beautiful kids.