It was about 6pm on a rainy day in late November, early December when I got a call from mums consultant following her diagnosis for cancer.

It wasn’t good.

“Rip the band aid off please and just tell me as it is” I said.

“Your mum is very poorly. It doesn’t look good. And we will do what we can, but she can’t be cured.”

I distinctly remember the car journey from the North, I think it was either Leeds or Warrington where I was on multiple projects at the time.

He told me, in that winter evening in 2016, that my beautiful, full of life, mum, who was always there for others has stage four lymph node, liver and breast cancer.

And for that moment, in that traffic jam by the M6, sat with the river of white and red lights around me, he said “Your mum is very poorly. It doesn’t look good. And we will do what we can, but she can’t be cured.”

With that, my world came to a proverbial standstill.

I remember the distinct feeling I got from mum when she and I talked about it. She was both scared and defiant at the same time.

It was only once that she broke down, the anger and intense confusion in her, standing in the kitchen making dinner.. the look of just utter disbelief – “why me??? I never smoked, drank alcohol, ate lots of meat… why is it me???”

I couldn’t console her … all I know is that at that time, I gave her a huge hug, and felt her khichari of emotions.

That was the only time she showed that frustration.

It was onwards from there.

She made each day count. No day went by with her in any form of self pity. Even during the really rough chemo days, the surgeries, the radiotherapies … each day was celebrated.

7 years. 7 beautiful years she gave us, or should I say, God gave us through her.

She made sure that she ate well, gave up eating junk, kept a clean diet with oat milk, gluten free, low sugar, good fats and plenty of exercise. This, with her relentless drive for sewa, kept her focussed with a sense of dutiful purpose.

It took 7 years for her to get us to a point where we would be strong enough, in a good enough place, having spent enough time with her grandson Sid, and seeing her youngest daughter married and being there to deliver her baby boy… for her to feel like “Yes. My work here is done”

But it never feels done. There’s always the next thing. always the next family milestone.

And for those, we will miss her always ❤️