In January 2026, my mum, Claire, was diagnosed with a glioblastoma, an aggressive form of brain cancer.

The day before her symptoms became apparent, she'd been out having coffee with friends and had gone to her WI meeting that evening. I'd been staying with Mum and Dad for the week and was due to head back to London the following day.

Mum hadn't quite been herself in the weeks leading up to this, but the doctors had put it down to something else. That evening, though, she was beaming. I remember going to bed feeling relieved, thinking perhaps we'd turned a corner.

The next morning, Dad woke me up and said something wasn't right.

That was the beginning of everything.

Not long afterwards, we found ourselves sitting in a hospital room being told Mum had a brain tumour. There was no surgery, no treatment, nothing they could offer her.

Just TWO months to live.

We cared for Mum at home as a family, with the support of an incredible palliative care team.

Those months were extraordinarily surreal and painful. Watching someone you love so much decline a little more each day, knowing there's nothing you can do to stop it, is something I wouldn't wish on anyone.

But even in the middle of all that, Mum was still Mum.

She was a formidable woman. Resilient, fiercely loving, with an extraordinary amount of grace and warmth. She genuinely cared about people and would go out of her way to help anyone, often without a second thought.

She had this wonderful little habit. Whenever a moment felt difficult, awkward or heavy, she'd slap both hands on her thighs, announce "RIGHT", and beam the most infectious smile.

And somehow, just like that, everything felt a little lighter.

She even did it after we found out about her diagnosis, I don't think I'll ever forget that.

Mum sadly died on 2 June 2026, aged just 66.

The photograph below was taken six weeks after she was told she had two months to live. There she is, surrounded by daffodils, with that same enormous smile on her face.

Brain tumours kill more children and adults under 40 than any other cancer. Yet research into them has historically received just a fraction of the funding given to other cancers.

In April 2027, my brother Dan and I are running the London Marathon for The Brain Tumour Charity.

We're doing it because families deserve better than what we were offered. They deserve treatment options. They deserve a fighting chance. They deserve hope.

We can't change what happened to Mum. But we can try to change what happens to the next family.

If you're able to donate, please do. Every contribution will help fund research into a disease that took our mum, and so many others, far too soon.

She spent her life looking after other people, so it feels right to do something that might help others in her name.

Love, CJ x