Last year, on February 8th, my mum passed away. 

I remember the day like it was yesterday and it is still as raw today as it ever has been.

She was 62, less than 5ft tall, had size 3/4 feet... but she had the personality of a giant, she had the heart of one too. Laying in bed, watching TV on a Saturday evening little did she, or her family, know what was about to happen. 

To receive a phone call on Sunday morning from my sister, telling me that our mum had, overnight, been rushed to intensive care after suffering from a heart attack in the middle of the night is not something that anyone should have to go through and it's a moment I will remember for the rest of my life. 

The following week, every morning, every day, going to ICU hoping and praying for the slightest glimmer of hope, even if one last opportunity to see her beautiful eyes and squeezer her tiny warm soft hands, anything.. but it wasn't to be.  After spending the best part of the next week in ICU, making no improvement, with no sign of life.. she slipped through our fingers and floated up to heaven in her own room whilst listening to her favourite song 'Mr Brightside' by the Killers. How ironic. 

My mum dedicated her life to working with and supporting independence and equality for people with learning disabilities, working for Jersey Mencap for a number of decades and moving on to the JET arm of Mencap she was a true advocate for equality & independence for people with a learning disability. Especially my brother, Matt, without the continuing support of Jersey Mencap and the utterly fantastic work they carry out I do not know how Matt would have the social life he does, being surrounded by so much love, care & support. 

Walking up to read at her funeral, turning around, seeing that the crematorium was full, no seats, no standing room, hundreds of people with no room to spare... I realised for the first time in my life how much an impact my mum had on people and how much love their was for her.

I remember actually turning around at the stand where i was about to talk and having to take a moment, it was so overwhelming, I think I may have actually said ‘sh!t I can’t do this...’ under my breath. All those eyes, waiting, looking at me... but then I realized... no matter what I said... everyone there already has their own memories of her, they are all there because they love and care for her, it didn’t matter what I said.

It has been the slowest yet most eventful year of my life. Adjusting to life without the one person who undoubtedly subconsciously sculpted me as a person and who has provided me with the tools to move forward in my life. 

I am determined to do so knowing that she is still here with me, guiding me from above. 

I was planning on raising money for Jersey Mencap and the British Heart Foundation (50/50) this year by running round the Isle of Wight (106KM consecutively) round Jersey twice consecutively (160KM), consecutively for 24Hours at Belvoir Castle (racking up over 100miles in that 24 hours) and round Guernsey (60KM) but due to COVID the only race I have managed to sign up to is a 60KM Ultra Marathon on Dartmoor National Park.

I have done a few 100KM+ runs in the past but this is different. Physical pain is nothing, nothing compared to losing your mum, nothing compared to the feeling of knowing you’ll never see your Mum again. When I run, I clear internal noise, I make space, I shut my mind off to the world and I’m free, to think as much or as little as I want. Running the north coast cliffs at night, on a cold January dark evening, with nothing but a head torch (and clothes obviously) with a star studded sky.. it gives me what I need both physically and mentally.

This is how I channel my emotions, how I channel everyday realisations that I will never see my mum again, how I 'cope'. 

Everyday feels like a year, every moment feels like a lifetime and every event now has a different feeling behind it. 

Cherish every moment with people you love, cherish your own heartbeat and appreciate how short life actually is.