My Mum lives a few hours away now. That’s not new – it’s been that way since I was 17 and moved to London. I’m a little closer now that I live in Manchester, but there’s still distance. She’s near my brother, both in geography and emotional rhythm. And over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been thinking about her more than usual.

She’s been poorly. A short stay in hospital. Some confusion. A scare. And for the first time in a long time, I’ve had to confront a version of her that isn’t quite as strong, sharp or self-sufficient as I’ve always known her to be.

The truth is, she hasn’t really been the same since my Dad died six years ago. She nursed him through the final years of his life with quiet, committed love. She gave everything – to the point she barely had a life of her own. That’s love, yes. But it’s also sacrifice. And it leaves its mark.

Now, in the stillness of her own fragility, the grief hasn’t disappeared. If anything, it’s settled in. I still see her stoic nature – “I can do this.” And sometimes she can. But what’s missing is the spark. The belief that better days are coming. Because, if we’re honest, she doesn’t fully believe that anymore.

It’s more than grief for my Dad. It’s also grief for time. For youth. For missed opportunities. She speaks, sometimes, with regret – that she didn’t make more of the time she had. And yet, frustratingly, she also struggles to use that reflection to change the present. It’s a loop many of us fall into.

She was always physically active – proud of it. Strong for her age. Self-reliant. And so, seeing her health dip because she hadn’t been looking after herself properly was sad. But seeing her bounce back over the weekend with us was a reminder – the body remembers. It wants to recover. It just needs a little help.

During her stay, I found myself thinking of the words she used to say to me as a child:

“You have to stick at things, Rebecca. No excuses.”

She was right then – just as I am now. Looking after yourself isn’t optional. It’s essential. At any age.

Physical and mental health are linked. Choices matter. Informed decisions matter. Following through matters. And maybe, just maybe, this was her wake-up call.

I believe she’ll recover fully. But I hope more than that. I hope this is a moment where she chooses – consciously, clearly – to take her future into her own hands. To stop living in the past. To stop waiting for better. And to make it instead.

Because it’s never too late. Not to decide. Not to change. Not to grow.