“Mum didn’t want lots of intervention – she’d had a long, happy life”

She went onto the stroke ward for a short time. The care was good, but they didn't give her intensive enough physio when there was a window to make things better. Just after her stroke when she could still hold a pen, she signed an Advance Directive to say she didn't want to go back into hospital.

I promised that I would do my best to help her stay in her flat

I managed to get Mum home, where she had double-up care four times a day. She had an NHS bed, and she had to be hoisted out of that into a chair and then onto a commode, and she was catheterised. It's very difficult if you've lost your independence to feel like you're a human being, but we kept her dignity as best we could.

Because I'd managed to get her home, she kept going longer than she would have done. If she'd been in a care home, she'd have given up the ghost, but she was a toughie.

I remember our walks along the seafront

Mum's flat had a beautiful view over the seafront at Weston. She had the best quality of life possible. I'd come and see her all the time and take her out in the wheelchair so she had a change of scene.

One of my daughters lives locally, so she'd pop in with her children and cheer Mum along. Every now and again we'd all walk together along the seafront, all four generations of us. It was lovely – my mum would be in her wheelchair and Georgie would be in her buggy with myself and my daughter behind, and my mum would be holding Georgie's hand. I've got lovely memories like that.

Mum eventually developed an infection which didn't respond to treatment

The GP came to the flat and told her, "Sheila, you realise if you don't go into hospital, it's likely that this infection will be the end, you won't recover from it", and Mum went "Oh good." She understood and was relieved.

Poor Mum, it took her at least two-and-a-half-weeks to die after she'd stopped drinking water. I was lying on a camp bed on the floor in the room with her. It's very stressful when somebody is dying – even if you know that's the right thing and that's what they want, it's not easy. You don't want somebody to be in pain and suffering.

The GP organised Marie Curie Healthcare Assistants to come on alternate nights. They were brilliant, a godsend. I cannot stress enough how wonderful they were.

The Marie Curie Healthcare Assistants were so calm and gentle

They just seemed to know instinctively how to position Mum so that she was comfortable. And they always tried to send the same nurse if they could so there was continuity as well. That was brilliant.

You trusted what they said, too, because you knew they'd had the experience. My guts were telling me Mum's pain medication wasn't right, and they reassured me that I'd done the right thing by getting the GP to up her dose. They were so reassuring all the time and knew what the next steps were.

One of the Healthcare Assistants was there the night my mum died

She woke me up to tell me that Mum was going to go fairly soon. Her breathing was becoming much less regular. It didn't take long after that.

She took one breath and that was it, no more. She just slipped away. It couldn't have been more peaceful. I was able to be there and hold her hand and talk to her. It was lovely. Well, not lovely – you know what I mean.

The Healthcare Assistant waited until she knew I was OK and I knew what I was doing. She stayed almost an hour probably after her shift had finished.

You don't realise how exhausted you are until it's all over

Then you just go "oof!" and can't do a thing. Without the wonderful Marie Curie Healthcare Assistants, I'd never have survived like I did. I'd spent at least six years looking after Mum. Sometimes I'd be out of bed four or five times a night to help her if she fell.

I was always on edge waiting for the next phone call. It all takes a toll, the responsibility and stress of being a carer. I didn't have a holiday for six years.

I felt like I had been grieving for so long that I was fine when Mum finally died. It was like a relief, but I felt a hollow emptiness. I still think about her every single day. Something will happen and I'll think, "Mum wouldn't have done that!"

I've never done anything like the London Marathon before

I've never forgotten the Marie Curie Healthcare Assistants – that's why I'm running the London Marathon. So I can remember all of them. They were the one positive in a very negative experience.

When I decided to apply, I thought "What's the matter with you Sally, you silly person?". I will be 73 on marathon day for heaven's sake! It's ridiculous! But I once I got it into my head, that was it, I had to! I'll be all right. Why can't I do it at 73?

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