Liz’s Story

“The news of our mum’s diagnosis was breath-taking. It’s like a bomb goes off, you can’t see through the smoke, and you can’t hear because your ears are ringing. None of us could believe it; I think we are all still struggling to believe it. It was made even harder for all of us because of the pandemic, which meant we couldn’t easily go and be with her. 

We knew that there was something different about mum for a couple of weeks before the diagnosis but nothing dramatic. She seemed a bit confused and couldn’t remember things she had just done – like what she had eaten for lunch, even though she had and could still cook and prepare everything for herself. We initially put it down to the stress of the lockdown. She and our dad were reluctant to go to hospital because they were terrified of the virus. 

After a few tearful zoom calls, they went and our lives all changed, devastatingly. We had worried in case she had a bleed on her brain, but we never, ever expected the diagnosis and prognosis to come. I was able to travel to Northern Ireland quite soon after mum’s diagnosis. I think we just wanted at least one of us to see for ourselves what was happening. Our parents were in so much shock it was hard to tell what was really happening. It was very clear to me, that not long after I had arrived, the prognosis mum had been given (a devastating 3 months) was a reality. 

My sister and I were with my mum in the early morning of August 9th. We were both holding her hand when she passed away. She had just turned 72 on July 20th.

Since my mum passed away, I have been working with the Tessa Jowell Foundation. Working towards changing the outcomes and experiences of those who will, sadly, get this devastating disease helps me feel that her loss will not have been in vain. My mum had an infectious smile and when something moved or engaged her, she would often clap her hands in excitement. I hope she’s smiling and clapping us all on now #humansizedpicture ”