She wasn’t just a name, she was our mum

Mum’s name was Jo. Josephine really, or Josie, but she only ever got called that if she was in trouble with Nan. Mum was lovely. She was a whirlwind, always on the go. For our entire lives, she suffered from various aches, but because she was so active, my brother and I put it down to Mum being Mum.

It all ‘started’ in November 2023. My husband and I took Mum and my stepdad to a rugby match, and she could barely walk. She was in a lot of hip pain, but she put it down to arthritis. The GP said Mum needed an X-ray, but she didn't want to ruin Christmas.

In hindsight, it was obvious something was wrong. She refused to see any of us on Christmas day, and that absolutely wasn’t normal.

My stepdad convinced Mum to have her X-ray on 6 January 2024. She had a broken hip fixed the next day. And that same day, she was diagnosed with lung cancer. It had metastasized to her bones. That’s what caused the broken hip.

Things are a bit of a blur from there. Mum stayed in a room on an orthopaedic ward. But she didn't see an oncologist until six days before she died, four weeks later.

On the morning of the oncologist’s appointment, mum wasn’t with it at all. I can’t believe it was her. When he arrived to talk to her, the doctor was so matter of fact. He said something like, “She's clearly not going to make it much longer and there's nothing we can do.”

But why hadn’t anyone talked about this before? She wasn’t just a name. She was our mum, she was a nanny, a wife and a daughter.

I kept asking if it was stage 3 or 4 cancer, we never got a clear answer. It was only when the Palliative Care team eventually came in later that same day, that we were told something definitive. They said it was likely she wouldn’t survive the weekend.

We were a mess, and my stepdad was desperate for Mum to go home, to be with her cats and garden. The Palliative Care team said they could plan it if her condition allowed, but it felt like they saw it as pointless until we pushed.

The next few days were horrific. Mum’s room was private and familiar. But she was such a chatty, interested person, and to have her shut away with no view, waiting for the inevitable, was awful.

The teams on the ward were fantastic, providing such thoughtful care, but no one from oncology came back. And if oncology or palliative care had just come sooner, maybe she could have gone home, even for a few days.

I assumed at some point we’d be directed to the nearest hospice. Instead, it was just uncertainty and upset, in a not so comfortable environment. Reality kicked in, and I didn't see her going home. But I thought we’d be directed to hospice care.

Mum didn’t want anyone to know about her condition, but we convinced her to let us tell some people shortly before she died on 6 February.

Mum had all these friends from things like aerobics and swimming, and when they found out she had cancer, they couldn't believe it. She didn't think she was very popular, but there were so many people at her funeral. It’s cruel irony. You do not know what you have until it is too late.

I was halfway through marathon training when Mum fell ill. I didn’t think I’d be able to go out to Boston for the race as it was just 10 weeks after everything happened. But in the end, it turned out to be one of the best runs I’ve done. Running can make everything feel a little lighter. And after the marathon, things started to fall back into place. I even decided to take on another one last year.

I’ve found other distractions, too. At the end of 2024, I started volunteering as a gardener at a National Trust property. Mum would love it and find it hilarious, because I definitely wasn’t interested growing up! When I go, it’s such a peaceful environment. I have a chuckle and think she'd be pleased and amused her obsession had rubbed off. And a bit smug too!

I’ve also been talking to people who’ve been through something similar, and unfortunately, I have a few friends who’ve recently lost a parent. But it helps – they're slightly removed but they still know me.

Helen’s experience shows how end‑of‑life care can fall short – missed visits, delays and poor communication left her without the choices she deserved. No family should feel that system failures, rather than personal choice, shaped those final days.

No one should reach the end of life feeling unseen or unsupported. Everyone deserves the chance to spend their final days in the place that’s right for them. But end of life care is in crisis.