Olivia’s story
On December the 9th 2018, I lost my beautiful Mum just eight months after she was diagnosed with stage 3/4 Ovarian cancer. From the moment we heard the diagnosis, we knew time was against us. The cancer was advanced, and we were fighting an uphill battle.
She was the most special person, and our bond was indescribable. I feel incredibly lucky to have had her as my Mum, but losing her shattered my world into a million pieces. I was not just grieving my best friend, I was also trying to support my father as he faced the unbearable loss of his life partner of over 45 years. I had, in fact, lost two parents, but only one physically. They had built their lives together, and she was the heart of our family. In an instant, our strong unit of three was torn apart.
Those eight months of treatment were some of the hardest and most harrowing of my life. Hospital stays, chemotherapy wards, endless conversations with consultants, and a relentless cycle of medications. There were emergency trips, sepsis scares, medical negligence, and a constant struggle to ease her symptoms, desperately trying to bring some normality to her final months.
Nothing prepares you for watching someone you love deteriorate before your eyes, powerless to stop it. Someone who has loved and cared for you since the day you were born. I had experienced some anticipatory grief before she passed away, but nothing could have prepared me for the devastating emptiness and pain that followed.
My Mum’s strength, bravery, and resilience throughout her illness were nothing short of inspirational. She fought with everything she had. She passed away at home, with me, my father, and my husband by her side. That was a small comfort, to be there in her final moments. But end-of-life choices are deeply personal, and everyone must decide what feels right for them.
I never imagined planning a funeral at the age of 26. The last few years of my twenties were a blur. I pushed away the horror of it all until, at 28, grief consumed me to the point where I could barely get out of bed. I sought help and learned that grief is a lifelong journey. It can surface at any time, anywhere.
If you have lost someone, never be afraid to share your memories. Never feel like you have to stay silent. And never hesitate to say you have experienced loss, but that it does not define how you want to be treated.
Seven years on, the grief is still there. It stays with me in quiet moments and in company, in laughter and in the everyday, always present. Sometimes it feels like a heavy cloud, dark and overwhelming. Other times it brings warmth, reminding me to cherish those I love and hold onto the brightest memories. The dark days do not last forever, and in time the light finds its way through.
Love does not fade even when someone is no longer here. It stays with us, unbroken, always.