Her columns, her podcast You, Me and the Big C, and her Bowelbabe blog transformed her private battle into a nationwide movement. She worked closely with health organizations, pushed for earlier screenings, and used humor and honesty to break stigmas many people were too embarrassed to discuss.
But her deepest motivation was always her children. She dreamed of a future where they — and others like them — could live without the shadow of fear she knew too well. In her final months, she poured her remaining strength into creating the Bowelbabe Fund, determined to support research that could save lives long after she was gone. That fund has now raised millions — a true testament to her extraordinary impact.
Yet Deborah’s greatest legacy wasn’t the money or the campaigns.
It was the way she lived.
She embraced life boldly and joyfully, refusing to save the “sparkly things” for special occasions. She wore glitter on ordinary days. She celebrated for no reason at all. She taught her children — and me — that every single day has something worth enjoying.
Before she passed, she gave her children one final piece of motherly wisdom:
“You never know when life will change… so cherish every moment.”
I remind myself of that daily.
In her last year, Deborah surprised doctors again and again by defying expectations with her strength. She lived far longer than anyone predicted, powered by incredible treatments, determination, and a will that simply refused to give up.
Our final Mother’s Day together is a memory I treasure deeply. Even though she was tired and unwell, she insisted on coming to my home, insisting that we celebrate just like always. I didn’t know it would be the last one — perhaps that’s a small mercy.
When she finally came home for her last weeks, we were gifted a strange, beautiful, bittersweet time. She planned small celebrations. She organized movie nights. She even gathered friends and family for a spontaneous engagement party for her brother. At one point, Prince William himself came for tea to present her with her Damehood. Those moments were surreal, heartbreaking, and full of love all at once.
During those nights, when sleep wouldn’t come, she and I stayed up talking for hours. I held her hand, listened to her fears, shared my own, and reminded her of everything she had accomplished. In those moments, she was my child again — and I was simply her mum.
She passed peacefully, with my hand in hers.
After her death, I kept myself busy — almost too busy — trying to take care of her children and her husband, filling every moment so I wouldn’t have to face the silence she left behind. When her first anniversary came, I finally broke. The grief I had pushed away overwhelmed me, and I had to learn how to heal, slowly, gently, one step at a time.
This year, something shifted.
We have weddings to celebrate.
Birthdays to honor.
Life to keep living.
We feel her missing from every milestone… but we also feel her urging us on, reminding us to enjoy the days she never got to see.
Deborah is no longer here — but her spark, her bravery, her humor, and her fierce love continue to shine through her children, her family, and the thousands of lives she touched.
Her legacy didn’t end.
It continues, louder and brighter than ever.