The sentence that stayed with me throughout Deborah’s final hours—‘I brought my daughter into the world, and I took her out of it’—felt like both a truth and a burden.” Sitting beside her, I held her hand as time softened around us. There is no guide for accompanying your child toward the end of life, no script for breathing beside someone whose breaths grow slower, quieter, more final.

Her hands, once busy tying shoelaces and typing words of encouragement, now rested in mine. For five and a half years, Deborah faced stage 4 bowel cancer with cycles of hope and despair, surgeries and treatments, always resisting with a courage that stunned everyone.

Her fight was never abstract. She fought for her children, her husband, her friends, strangers, and even herself. “She waged this battle even as stage 4 bowel cancer stripped away comfort, energy, and normalcy.” Her honesty and humor became shields, and her advocacy saved lives and comforted countless people.

When hospice arrived, she said, “Mum, I don’t want them to be scared. Promise me we’ll keep things light.” Her last days were gentle; she spoke quietly, held my hand, and focused on hope, resilience, and her children. On the final morning, I whispered, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can rest now,” and she slipped free.

Grief comes in waves, but Deborah surrounds me in her children, ordinary moments, and the courage she modeled. “Deborah lived vibrantly and died courageously. Her legacy lives on in the lives she saved, the voices she inspired, and the love she spread.