As I held my daughter’s hand during her final breath, I felt both sadness and relief. My beautiful whirlwind of a girl was gone, and so was her pain. It’s hard to be a mom to a dead child every day, but tomorrow is especially hard.

Even though one of my children has died, I will always be a mom of three. But today, I’m thinking about my grandchildren, who have lost their wonderful mother. It’s not okay for them to send her a card or gift or just let her hug them. Today, like every day for the past 21 months, all I can do is love them and be there for them.

Five and a half years after being told she had bowel cancer, my oldest daughter, Dame Deborah James, died. She was 40 years old. It’s still hard to believe that the world has gone on without her. She was such a force of nature from the time she was a little girl.

Deborah was diagnosed in December 2016 when she was 35 years old and had two kids, ages 9 and 7. She was a healthy, active young woman who didn’t smoke or eat meat. But she was losing weight, having bloody stools, and feeling tired. At first, it was thought to be stress or IBS, so hearing that she had bowel cancer was very upsetting. But I thought she would have surgery and chemotherapy and then be fine again soon.

There were more tests, and a few weeks passed before I was shocked to hear that the cancer was in its fourth stage. Deborah was brave and determined, which didn’t surprise me at all; that was just how she was. She didn’t just want to deal with her own illness; she also wanted to help other people.

She wanted to shout from the rooftops about cancer, its symptoms, and how important it is to pay attention to your body. She wished the world were a better place for her kids. She started writing a column for The Sun and started the Bowelbabe blog soon after she was told she had cancer.

After that, she co-hosted the popular podcast You, Me, and the Big C, worked with The Sun to lower the NHS screening age, encouraged people to get checked, and talked about poop whenever she could. Her kids were the most important thing in her life. To make things better for them, she wished. She pictured a time when they wouldn’t have to worry about getting cancer.

As a result, she moved in with us. We spent seven weeks with her, which was a wonderful time for all of us. She planned movie nights and threw an unplanned engagement party for her 33-year-old brother Ben and his fiancée. After Buckingham Palace announced she was a dame, Prince William even came over for tea.

It was a strange time, full of love and both sadness and happiness. I will always remember it. Deborah and I both couldn’t sleep, so most nights we stayed up together. We were both afraid she might not wake up.

We talked for a long time. I told her she was strong and promised to be there for her kids. It was like getting my baby back; my dying daughter used to depend on me as a child. We couldn’t be apart, and our love for each other grew stronger.

I had her hand in mine when she passed away. After everything she had been through, I’m glad her last moments were peaceful. I was high on adrenaline for the first year after she died. I did everything I could to help Deborah’s husband Seb and their kids.

I kept busy to take my mind off of how bad things were, but I didn’t really deal with my grief. When her death anniversary came around, I had terrible panic attacks that made it impossible for me to leave the house.

Everything had caught up with me, and I was both physically and mentally worn out. Even though I didn’t want to take them at first, I was given antidepressants. But talking about Deborah and looking at pictures of her also helps me feel better.

I felt better at the beginning of this year. Last month was Sarah’s 40th birthday, and in April, my son Ben is getting married. We miss Deborah a lot on these important days, but we know she would want us to enjoy them for her.

Deborah is no longer with us, but her spirit lives on in her family, especially her children, and in the work she did to raise awareness and funds.