A journey through loss and healing - London Marathon 2026

Writing my story was a challenge, as it meant revisiting memories and emotions that had been guarded for many years.

My story began with my birth, following years of my mum and dad trying to have a child and eventually adopting my older brother. The joy of my arrival was soon overshadowed by my dad’s diagnosis with multiple myeloma when I was only 18 months old.

During the early 1980s, this was a rare and formidable cancer, and the only treatment available was at the Royal Marsden Hospital in Surrey. This meant lengthy separations, with my brother and me staying with relatives while my parents travelled for his treatment.

Childhood without a father

I was just over four when my dad died, and my brother was around 12. In those days, it was not customary for a young child to attend a parent’s funeral, so I never had the opportunity to say goodbye.

Some years later, my mum met a new partner, and I gained a stepdad and stepbrother until I was ten. Conversations about my dad occasionally happened in social settings, but within the privacy of our home, he was rarely mentioned.

This unspoken rule left me with countless unanswered questions and a void where memories should have been. Mum always struggled with the emotions of losing her childhood sweetheart. She used alcohol to dampen those feelings and help her cope with raising two young children.

I grew up being told that I was the spitting image of my dad. Rather than bringing comfort, the comment often sparked sadness and an overwhelming need to steer the conversation away from him.

I knew him only through photographs, which failed to bring back any memories. It was not until my mum died in April 2017 that I saw a moving image of him for the first time.

During the emotional task of clearing the family home, we discovered an old cine reel. There he was, walking in front of our home: a young man pottering around the garden and smoking a cigarette.

I carefully planned when I would watch the video because I knew it would be difficult. I had learned from a young age to keep my feelings to myself. The children were both at school, and my husband was out running errands. I even chose to watch it on the television upstairs so that I could make an excuse and turn it off before anyone found me.

Embracing openness in grief

There were still many unanswered questions and a deep sadness that mainly surfaced during milestone birthdays and significant events.

When my mum became terminally ill, I decided to do things differently with my own two children, who were three and seven at the time.

They helped me care for my mum and saw for themselves how her illness changed her. I explained what was happening at a level they could understand and allowed them to visit her frequently, including during her final week in the hospice.

Her funeral became a celebration of her life, and both of my children attended. We learned new stories, shared memories and became completely united in our grief.

I continued to maintain this level of openness with my children as they grew older.

Embracing grief and everything it encompasses lay at the heart of who I was, both personally and professionally as a registered nurse.

This experience eventually led me to become one of the proud co-founders of Windmills, a local charity providing proactive support to children and young people. Our work helps them feel fully supported and prepared, with a clearer understanding of death, dying and bereavement.

Running the London Marathon in memory and hope

On 26 April 2026, I laced up my running shoes with a heart full of memories and a spirit of hope.

Two days earlier would have marked my father’s 80th birthday - a milestone that deserved to be celebrated. His legacy lived on, not only in the memories we cherished but also through the actions we took to support others.

In the true spirit of Windmills, where we focus on making memories and celebrating milestones, I took on the epic challenge of the London Marathon.

Supporting vulnerable children and young people

Running the marathon was not only a personal tribute. It was also a commitment to the many children and young people we had supported through Windmills.

These children and young people often faced significant challenges and vulnerabilities during some of the most difficult periods of their lives.

Every step I took was in honour of their resilience and in the hope that we could continue providing the support they needed to navigate grief, loss and uncertainty.

Looking towards the future

The marathon was also about looking forward to the children and young people we had not yet met but knew we would support as tragedy, loss and vulnerability arose.

Our mission was, and continues to be, to offer support, guidance and hope when families need it most.

By completing the marathon, I helped raise awareness of this vital work and generated funds to help Windmills continue supporting children, young people and their families.

Crossing the finish line did not simply mark the end of a race. It represented the continuation of a mission: to help create a world where every child and young person receives the understanding, care and support they deserve.

Could you fundraise for Windmills?

You do not need to run a marathon to make a difference.

From sponsored walks and workplace challenges to bake sales, community events or personal milestones, there are many ways to raise money and support the work of Windmills.

Would you like to organise your own fundraiser? Speak to us about your idea and find out how we can help you get started.