When I was 9, my mum was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. This was the first time I ever faced the idea of losing a parent. My mum, a nurse by trade, took cancer and all it was in her stride. She ‘fought’ (although she hated that term) with all her might. Although cliche, my mum and I were thick as thieves and bestest of friends, so my world was turned upside down. I vividly remember going to visit her post surgery, and her acting as if nothing had happened, putting on a front not to scare myself and my brother. Bed rest for her meant watching Keeping Up With The Kardashian’s with me and eating crumpets. After a long battle, she was given the all clear and was in remission. Our family were overjoyed. Although, I couldn’t help live with a fear she would get ill again, and 11 year old me was taught in the 2 years prior just how fragile life could be.
Fast forward to 2020, it is the height of covid, but fear not, my family and I all (legally) hunker down into one house. We make memories in the living room and make the best out of a bad situation as a unit, my mum, dad brother and I. However, a pain in my mum’s hip began, to which she complained about a lot (which meant it was bad because she never complained).
2021 rolls around and the news that 11 year old me dreaded had come true. At 24, I was facing the idea of loosing my mum. She had secondary breast cancer in the bone. However, in true her fashion she was ever the optimist. With a positive mindset, she tackled treatment and navigated life the best she could. She tried to enjoy holidays with my dad, make memories with myself and my brother and find light in life.
February 2024 rolls around, and the blow that we least expect comes. My dad, a previously healthy man who I never placed my worry of losing with, gets diagnosed with stage 4 incurable bowel cancer. I felt like I had been punched. Or, more accurately, hit with a train. What I thought I could come to understand at 9, how I might lose my mum, was now way worse than I could ever imagine. Cancer was going to take both my parents, and there was nothing that anyone could do about it.
My dad, my calm in the storm, the breadwinner, business man and a stable, never wavering figure of the house now seemed fragile as he navigated treatment, his emotions and the new life that was so uncertain.
January 2025, my mum lands herself in hospital with pain. The hospital treat her with radiotherapy, but things only get worse. Upon visiting my mum, myself and my family realise things aren’t right. A women, who knew it all and had ‘all her marbles’ and more, began to stop making sense. She spoke about things that weren’t there, she got her words mixed up. We feared the worst and the worst came true. The cancer had spread to her brain and was effecting her ability to function. When watching my mum and best friend become a person I didn’t recognise due to brain cancer I experienced a pain and trauma I will never get over. My mum went to hospice, a place of hope and care, where she wanted to be.
Almost simultaneously, my dad’s condition worsened, his symptoms worsened and he struggled to complete simple tasks like walk up the stairs. He had a scan, we feared the worst and the worst came true. The cancer had spread to the stomach and he had a matter of months to live. The man I so deeply loved and needed during this awful time was fading away in-front of me. My soul left my body, I was facing the unthinkable, it is a feeling I cannot describe and a pain my brain has blocked out. The two people who truly knew me and loved me unconditionally were going to die and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But I have learnt through grief that I am like my mum, faced with adversity I power on. So I did. I endeavoured to make their life happy and comfortable, like they did for me.
My mum passed away on the 21st of April 2025.
My dad, a week after my mum’s death, went into the same hospice that my mum had passed away in. My mum’s funeral was on the 19th of May, and on the 18th of May my dad’s condition worsened. Something I will spare the details of. I had a conversation with my brother about how my auntie will stay with him, but if he dies on the 19th, the day of my mums funeral, we do not want to be told in order to honour remembering our mum. A conversation that feels almost unbelievable to write about and let alone have.
My dad passed away on the 21st of May 2025.
Grief has taught me how unfair life is. Grief is lonely. But I tell my story after searching for months to find a story that is somewhat similar to my own. I haven’t found one yet, so I want to tell mine. My mum and dad are so much more than cancer. They gave me life and I will strive to keep theirs alive.
and make things better- sending you big hugs xx
including yours, but it does help me know I’m not alone in my pain. Let’s hope the next 12 months just gets better & better. Sending you hugs xx