Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be pulled into a black hole? The struggle against a force so much more powerful than yourself, the inevitability of your situation, and – I imagine – those final few seconds of complete emptiness before everything ends.

No one alive could ever know or understand the feeling of emptiness that would come inside a black hole. But in the eighteen months since I lost my mum, I have experienced a certain level of emptiness that most young adults might never feel. That emptiness keeps me up at night, stops me in the street, affects my relationships and is now a part of who I am. My name is Beth, I’m 22 years old, and when I was 20, my mum died of cancer. This is my story.


It’s not the snappiest title, I’ll give you that. It doesn’t scream bestseller. Cholangiocarcinoma – confusing, hard to communicate, unusual, the word is everything that the cancer was. It’s cancer of the bile duct, if you were wondering. This part of the blog post was the hardest to write. I still find it near impossible to think about losing mum without feeling like I am breaking in half. When I meet new people, especially those who are, or will be, important in my life, I dread telling them. I see it in their eyes when they ask about my parents and I reply only about my dad. Where is her mum, they are thinking? Who doesn’t have a mum?

Me. I don’t have a mum. At least not one I can hug when I’m sad, or call up when I get a promotion, or laugh with at Christmas. Of course I still have a mum, and I will forever have the memories of the 20 glorious years I spent with my beautiful, brilliant best friend. But the physical space she took up in my life is now a gaping hole. After the surgery she had to remove the majority of the tumour, mum had a large scar on her stomach. It kept getting infected and never properly healed. She could never have radiotherapy because it kept opening and preventing anything from progressing. My own wounds, though not visible, feel like that scar. Just when I think I’m ready for the next step, I rip open again and I’m back to square one.

In fact, mum was really lucky. Cancer of the bile duct is rare and almost impossible to cure. She lived nearly two years from her original diagnosis, and was relatively healthy in that time. She fought incredibly hard and was an inspiration to everyone who met her. She even found the strength to run a charity 5K, to raise money for Mary Ann Evans Hospice. Her death was not painful or stressful, but quiet and peaceful, surrounded by her family – who were indeed her whole world. At her funeral, the church was fuller than it had possibly ever been, and thousands of pounds were raised for Cancer Research UK, who continue to work incredibly hard to find a cure for cancer.

2nd July 2015

At the moment, as we near the end of 2016, everyone keeps saying it’s been the worst year ever. I’m inclined to agree; with Brexit, Trump’s victory, Bake Off moving to Channel 4, and all the celebrity deaths, 2016 has been a truly horrible year. It has also been the first full year without mum. The first year she didn’t live through, at all. The first of every anniversary is the worst – I knew that would be the case before I experienced any of them. But now, with 2017 in sight, all of the first anniversaries are gone. I’ve survived them all. And having just had the second Christmas without mum, I’m not optimistic. The second anniversary is pretty bad too, because that is when you realise that the last one wasn’t a one off, or a mistake. It was the cold reality of the future. She didn’t just miss last Christmas. She will miss every Christmas.

Hope for the future

It can be very easy for me to become all consumed by the emptiness I feel, and lose hope in the future. However, there are quite a few things that help me – my Christian faith and the hope I have in God’s plan for my life, my wonderful family, who truly understand how I feel, and my long-suffering friends, who have picked me up from my worst and shown me true love and joy. Talking about mum is essential for me to stay positive, and having a counsellor at university was the reason I didn’t drop out, but stayed and worked extremely hard to finish my degree and make my mum proud.

It was around Christmas 2015 that I first had the idea for this website. Being open and honest about my hopes and fears is something that comes quite naturally to me, but not many people can, or want to, share how they are feeling. For some people, speaking out loud about their grief can be a real struggle, especially when death is such a taboo and people don’t want to ask, or talk about it. I decided that what I would have appreciated, was a safe space online to talk to other young people about their experiences of loss. Young people who knew what to say, what questions to ask, and how I was feeling without needing me to explain. I was disappointed to find that such a space didn’t exist, but I simply saw that as a challenge that I needed to overcome.

Let’s Talk About Loss

So that brings me here: December 2016. I’ve bought the domain name, designed the site and written the first blog post. The idea that I’ve had for months, if not a year, is finally a reality and I’m excited to be writing again, and hopeful that the dream I have of helping other young people in my situation might actually come true. There are lots of fantastic websites helping people who have lost loved ones – and Grief Encounter is one I must mention in particular. It has fantastic resources for children and young people who have lost a parent, and its work is healing many broken hearts. I hope that Let’s Talk About Loss can sit alongside this great charity and the many others that exist and provide a different kind of support.

I have a long way to go before the emptiness I feel in my heart is fully gone, but I hope that by talking through the taboo of loss and death, I can process my pain better and help others heal too. Every loss is unique, and losing a parent when you are young is not common, but that does not mean anyone should suffer alone. Those of us with shared experiences can support each other, and those who cannot relate, can at least understand.

So – let’s talk about loss.

22 thoughts on “Black holes and big dreams

  1. Beth that was beautiful to read and although I’m older I so do understand having faced it with I wish you every success in this venture love gwenX

  2. Well done Beth that was beautifully written. Lots of us loved your mum too and share your pain. It’s a fab thing for you to do to start this as I’m sure you have identified a need and many will benefit. Take care and we will see you soon.

    1. Dear Beth
      You are showing the beauty of your mum inside you and your family.
      She was an amazing woman and would be very proud of the loving children she raised.
      Good luck with this, I’m sure it will help many people to try to start to understand how difficult things will be, but also to talk about it. Sending all love and best wishes x

  3. What a brave and heartbreaking post to read. Another example of why your mum was so proud, proud of you all. I hope it reaches far and wide, and helps others who find themselves sadly in similar situations. I also hope it helps you to continue to move forward and perhaps offer some sort of purpose in grief xx

  4. Oh Beth- you are an inspiration. I am in tears at what you have had to experience- your mum will be smiling down on you xxxx

  5. Beautiful idea Beth! I’m so sorry you had to go through something that horrendous but the fact that you’ve created something positive from it, which will help others is amazing – true reflection on how amazing you are!

  6. That is amazing Beth, a huge break though in what is an uncomfortable subject for many, but affects so many.

  7. Amazing achievement Beth, a subject that affects so many yet many find it uncomfortable to discuss.

  8. Hi Beth,
    Congratulations on getting started! It’s a great idea for a blog site, and you write very well. I will share this on Facebook and I’m glad to know there are articulate, caring people like you going ahead of my own (young adult) children who will one day face the same grief as you and have to face life after their mum has died of cancer. I hope that many young people find hope, strength and faith through your site.

  9. Thank you Beth, for a very moving blog well written.
    When I lost my father in my 30s one of the things which remained hard for a long time was that he never knew and celebrated with me when special things happened afterwards, like finding what I really wanted to do with my life.
    Now in my 50s my sister then my mother died over the last couple of months and I have found it helpful reading other people’s blogs and I am sure your experience will be very valueable for younger people.
    So thank you and good luck with this new venture.
    Very best wishes, Roni

  10. Beth, that’s wonderful, I can’t say I know how you feel as even though I lost my mum this year and you describe a lot of the stuff that goes around in my head I was lucky I had her for 46 years not just 20, your one brave, beautiful and clever young woman, your mum would be proud of you but you know that, I’m sure everyone tells you, phew….. I that just made me want to hug you tight, you know my kids were so very nearly in your position, I faught hard to survive and I was so damn lucky I did but the scars my Max & Joshua hold are extreme after going through that, I worry about them so much, I’ve beaten it for now but mine was so aggressive they’re expecting it back quite soon, I hope my lovely if that happens you will get my two boys too participate in this truely remarkable blog with a truly amazing young woman, God bless and any help you want you know where I am xx

  11. Thank you so much for posting this – my husband died from cancer 5 years ago . Praying for you and all who live with the missing ..

  12. Brilliant idea Beth, from my own experiences it hasn’t been easy without dad and something like this may have helped me when I was at my lowest. Having just had my third Christmas without him I can say the pain doesn’t go away, but it does change. Instead of feeling numb, I remember the good memories we shared and how lucky I was to have someone like him in my life in the first place.

  13. Hey Beth. I used to look after your cousins(S,G&A)and met your mum a few times when you guys visited…… Love what you’ve written here and sending love to you and the rest of your family xxxx

  14. Hi Beth
    A really beautiful article
    Your mum was such an amazing lady
    A complete inspiration to everyone who knew her
    She created such a wonderful family
    Thinking of you all

  15. Dear Beth, Thank you for words that will help young people to deal with “loss”. I lost my mother when I was the age of 33 and there were no people or places there to help. My family and friends of course were supportive but it took me 4 years to come to terms with her passing. I have lived with the fear of reaching my 60th Birthday and this June I will have passed the dreaded timeline. Sounds bizzare but Ovarian Cancer had taken my mother too early. Now I ensure that I have a regular check up to have peace of mind.
    Recently, my eldest son married and it was sad that she was not there but I know she would have enjoyed every moment and happy to have seen her granddaughter. Those are the moments in our busy routine lives we remember and know she is never forgotten .

      1. Hi Helen, thank you for your message and I am so glad that my blog post helped you a little. I am thinking of you at this time and I hope you are able to enjoy your 60th birthday.

  16. I also lost my mum to cancer and have suffered anxiety a thing ever since, which was 7 years ago, I have good days and bad even now, but have learnt to live with it. Your ok, then boom! Just out no where it hits you again! What a fabulous girl you are, you explained everything in ways I could relate to, Good on you Beth, you have a lovely way about you, keep up the good work.

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