The first week of being thrown into the reality of losing my dearest Mum. The pain and grief had to make some space for the practicalities, like testing for COVID-19, flying to the Czech Republic, arranging the funeral, dealing with the authorities, filling out forms, running around offices and making necessary phone calls. On one hand, the mundane tasks help with taking my mind of the unbearable truth. On the other hand, I burst into tears every time I have to explain to someone what happened.

And then, I am left alone in my Mum's flat, and I break over and over again. Trying to hold on to my faith that she is here with me, even though I can't physically touch her, hold her, kiss her and tell her how much I love her and always will. I am trying to find consolation in little moments that I believe are a proof of that.

On Monday, the first day I came out of the flat to start all the necessary and painful arrangements, it started to snow. My first thought wandered off to my Mum. She knew how much I loved snow. She sent me a comforting message in pure white, soft snowflakes, whispering "be brave, my darling girl, I am with you all the way..."

I love you so much, Mum, and miss you every single day, every single moment.