Adding 'okay' to your vocabulary is so vital in today's society when there is pressure from every angle. When you're expected to do unpaid overtime, have a 'perfect' house, a 'perfect' body and a 'perfect' social life all at the same time (which, by the way, is entirely unrealistic). You are okay. You really are okay. And most of the time, so am I.
I don't want to live my life as "Fiona's daughter". There are a few people I know at the moment who think of me this way, and it feels like such a burden. It also doesn't do justice either to me or to Mum. Mum wasn't just a mother: she was so much more than that. And I may be her daughter, but I am so much more than that, too.
There was a time when only two things in life were certain; death and taxes. Now there's a third certainty; that the imprint we leave online will last long after we are gone. By 2012, just eight years after Facebook launched, 30 million profile owners had died. According to some estimates, 8,000 Facebook users die every day, leaving behind profiles, photos, likes, and memories.
It is really weird knowing that if I lose a memory, and only Mum would have remembered it, it is now a nothing. It's a gap. I don't know where it went or what it turned into but it's not there anymore. It's been replaced by space and silence. For the rest of my life, that gap will always be a gap; there will never again be a piece of memory that perfectly fits.
The morning of 5 May, 2013, started like any other morning. My husband, our four children and I were staying in our holiday home in North Cornwall for the bank holiday weekend and what a weekend it promised to be, the weather was glorious. After a morning of walking on the beach, sand castle making and splashing in the sea, we decided to go out on our speedboat, a RIB, and had a heavenly afternoon picnicking and driving up and down the stunning Camel estuary. It was the first time that we had been out on the boat all year and everyone was in a good mood, laughing and screaming as we rode the choppy waves. It was only when we were coming back into our mooring that disaster struck.
If you ask a bereaved child a direct question such as, 'how do you feel about Mummy dying? their response is likely to be a shoulder shrug rather than a chatty response. On the other hand, if you tell them a story about an animal losing his Mum, the child is likely to identify with the animal and tell you how they feel.