“I brought my daughter into this world and I was with her when she left it.”
As I held Deborah’s hand and she took her final breath, I felt both sadness and relief. My vibrant and beloved daughter was gone, but so was her suffering.
Being a mom to a child who has passed away is tough every day, but tomorrow is especially difficult.
Even though I’ve lost one of my children, I’ll always consider myself a mom of three. Today, my thoughts are with my grandchildren, Hugo and Eloise, who are 16 and 14 years old. They’ve lost their amazing mother.
It’s heartbreaking that they can’t send her a card or gift, or simply hug her anymore.
Every day for the past 21 months, all I can do is love and support them.
My oldest daughter, Dame Deborah James, passed away at 40 years old, after battling bowel cancer for five and a half years. It’s still difficult to accept that she’s gone. She was a remarkable force of nature since she was a little girl.
Deborah was diagnosed in December 2016 when she was 35 years old and had two kids, ages 9 and 7.
She was a healthy and active young woman who didn’t smoke or eat meat. However, she started losing weight, having bloody stools, and feeling tired.
At first, doctors thought it might be stress or IBS, so finding out she had bowel cancer was very upsetting.
I thought she would undergo surgery and chemotherapy and then recover quickly.
But after more tests and a few weeks passed, I was shocked to learn that the cancer had progressed to stage four.
Deborah was brave and determined, which didn’t surprise me; that was just who she was.
She didn’t only focus on her own illness; she also wanted to help others.
She wanted everyone to know about cancer, its signs, and how crucial it is to listen to your body.
“She wished the world was safer for her kids.”
After being diagnosed with cancer, she began writing a column for The Sun and started the Bowelbabe blog.
Soon after, she co-hosted the popular podcast You, Me, and the Big C, partnered with The Sun to lower the NHS screening age, urged people to get screened, and talked openly about bowel health whenever she could.
Her children were the most important part of her life. She hoped for a future where Hugo and Eloise wouldn’t have to worry about cancer.
One of her final and most significant projects was establishing the Bowelbabe Fund. In her last weeks, she set it up to fund cancer research and develop new treatments.
Knowing time was short, she poured all her energy into it.
However, Deborah’s impact goes beyond her work and the lives she saved and continues to save.
Her greatest gift to us all is the wisdom she shared on how to live.
I see Deborah’s zest for life reflected in her children: they make the most of each day and find joy in the little things, just like she did. Her passion and energy are alive in both of them.
The weekend before she passed away, she told them to live well and cherish every moment. She said, “You never know when life will end, so enjoy every moment.” I try to remember that advice too.
I used to save special things for special occasions, but Deborah taught me otherwise. She would wear her favorite dresses just because, and now I follow her example.
Since she’s been gone, I’ve tried to keep her brave and positive attitude. I dress up for no reason, wear sparkly earrings like she did, and try to appreciate each moment more. It makes me feel closer to her.
It was heartbreaking that I couldn’t ease her pain. When Deborah was first diagnosed with bowel cancer, doctors said she might not make it through the year. It was hard to grasp. I couldn’t believe I could lose my daughter so quickly.
But Deborah defied the odds many times, thanks to her treatments and her inner strength. She endured surgeries, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, and powerful medications, refusing to give up.
On our last Mother’s Day together in March 2022, she was very ill but still planned to come to my house for lunch. I cherish that day deeply. I never imagined it would be our last because she always bounced back.
In May 2022, she left The Royal Marsden Hospital after doctors said there was nothing more they could do. That’s when my biggest fear came true.
As her mother, I felt helpless. I wish I could have eased her pain. She moved in with us for the last seven weeks of her life, which were precious for all of us.
During that time, she organized movie nights and threw an impromptu engagement party for her brother Ben and his fiancée. Even Prince William came for tea after she was made a dame by Buckingham Palace.
It was a strange time, filled with love, mixed with both sadness and joy. I’ll never forget it.
Most nights, Deborah and I stayed awake together because we couldn’t sleep. We were both afraid she wouldn’t wake up.
We talked for hours. I reassured her of her strength and promised to be there for her children.
It felt like having my baby back; my dying daughter relied on me just like she did when she was a child. We were inseparable, and our bond grew stronger.
I held her hand when she passed away. After everything she went through, I’m grateful her last moments were peaceful.
In the first year after she passed, adrenaline kept me going. I did everything I could to support Deborah’s husband, Seb, and their children.
I stayed busy to avoid confronting my grief, but eventually, everything caught up with me. On the anniversary of her death, panic attacks made it impossible for me to leave the house.
Physically and mentally exhausted, I finally accepted antidepressants, although talking about Deborah and looking at photos of her also brings comfort.
I started feeling better at the beginning of this year. Last month was Sarah’s 40th birthday, and in April, Ben is getting married.
We miss Deborah dearly on these significant days, but we know she’d want us to celebrate them for her.
Though Deborah is no longer here, her spirit lives on in her family, especially her children, and in the advocacy work she did to raise awareness and funds.
