23/06/2025
HEALING LOST TRUTHS ❤️🩹⚡️🦋
( long deep post just sayin 🤪)
Some truths take decades to surface.
I used to believe this journey was about breast cancer. But the deeper I went, the clearer it became this wasn’t about cancer. It was about remembrance. About piecing together a life that was quietly fragmented by loss and silence.
When I was 5 , my mum died of cervical cancer. She was just 35 . One moment she was there, holding us, loving us and the next, she was gone. My brother Darrell was seven.
We weren’t told much. No funeral. No grave. No goodbye. It was like the world decided we were too young to grieve. And so, silence became our inheritance.
That silence stayed with me for decades until now.
With the help of my best friend Sharon Adams and a beautiful caring woman at Doncaster Archives, we finally uncovered the truth:
After much confusion about mums name we discovered her maiden name was Mary Bown.
She was born on the 15/03/1945 died on the 23/05/1980 just one day after my dad’s birthday.
Her funeral was held a week later.
Her ashes were scattered at Rose Hill Crematorium.
And here’s what shook me:
My brother Darrell took his life 16/03/1995 the day after what would’ve been her birthday.
He was just 22 years old .
Mum and dad lived at 22 st Mary’s Road when my brother was born. He died 50 years after her birth. I’m going through this sacred journey in my 50th earth year.
These numbers. These dates. These echoes they aren’t random. They are resonances.
By thirteen, I had lost two mothers.
By twenty-one, I lost my only brother.
And now, decades later, I was diagnosed with HER2+ breast cancer, in my left breast the feminine side. The nurturing side. The side of the mother.
But the cancer isn’t the root. It’s the result. A sacred alarm from my body, telling me:
You haven’t yet grieved.
You haven’t yet remembered.
You haven’t yet stood at the grave.
And now I have.
I’ve stood at Rose Hill, laid flowers for the mother I couldn’t mourn, and felt her presence.
I’ve uncovered the siblings I never met from her first marriage.
I’ve looked into the face of truth, and I didn’t break.
Because here’s what I now know:
Trauma isn’t just emotional. It’s physical. It lives in our tissues. It feeds silence until we dare to speak.
This illness isn’t random.
These synchronicities aren’t coincidence.
They are coherence.
They are a sacred pattern pulling me back to wholeness.
So this journey my body’s unraveling, the rediscovery of my mum’s resting place, the dates that align in impossible ways none of it is punishment. It’s initiation.
This isn’t just my story.
It’s my mum’s.
It’s Darrell’s.
It’s Auntie Irene’s.
And through it, I’m ending the silence.
I’m reclaiming what was lost.
I’m remembering who I am.
If you’re walking through darkness, know this:
The truth may be buried.
But it’s not gone.
And when you’re ready to face it liberation is not just possible.
It’s inevitable.
A message to my loved ones 💜🦋
To Mum, to Darrell, to Auntie Irene
Thank you.
Even though you weren’t able to walk this full lifetime with me, you’ve never left me.
Not for a moment.
I’ve carried you in my thoughts, in my questions, in the ache that never quite had a name.
I’ve loved you through every silence.
The parasite infestation that entered my body wasn’t random.
It was a message. A mirror. A cry from the parts of me that never got to grieve.
They fed on abandonment, on silence, on wounds never spoken.
But they also showed me the truth:
that trauma lives in the body when love has nowhere to go.
And now… I’ve pieced together the jigsaw.
Not just for me but for all of us.
So we can be set free.
I will not be silenced anymore.
I will not feel sadness when I speak your names.
You are part of me.
I honour you now, in light, not shadow.
And through this remembrance we return to one another.
Whole.💯
I LOVE YOU always and forever 💜💜💜💜💜💜🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋
