A personal story for World Ovarian Cancer Day

Category: Grief / Advocacy / Personal Story

I had barely turned 15 when I lost my mom to ovarian cancer.

At the time, I didn’t realize just how much I would need her—not just then, but in all the years still to come. It hurts not to have her here for new milestones, but unfortunately, that’s the reality myself and other families face because of cancer.

I raise my voice on social media not just to honor her memory, but to warn others so it doesn’t happen to them. And so today, on World Ovarian Cancer Day, I say it again—not just because I miss her (which I do, with every inch of my being)—but because I made her a promise.

A promise that her story wouldn’t end with her.

I was just a kid, watching my world fade with her

There’s no guidebook for navigating your crucial high school years without the comfort of your mom. No manual for dealing with the insane amount of grief you didn’t even know how to process. No chapter in the teenage experience that prepares you for saying eternal goodbye to your role model when your biggest worry should’ve been figuring out how to make it from your locker to class on time.

When my mom got sick, we had no idea what we were up against. The symptoms were vague: bloating, stomach pain, feeling full too fast. Things that could’ve been chalked up to stress, aging, or anything but cancer. By the time we found out, it was already stage III.

We knew our world was about to change—but we never realized just how much.

I wish we had known the signs of ovarian cancer

There is no screening test for ovarian cancer. Let me repeat that: there is no early detection test. Pap smears don’t detect it. Routine checkups miss it. And the symptoms are so subtle, they’re often ignored until it’s too late.

By the time most women are diagnosed, the disease has already spread. That’s what happened to my mom—and to thousands of others.

Every year in the U.S., over 19,000 women are diagnosed with ovarian cancer. And over 13,000 die from it.

If caught early, the 5-year survival rate is over 90%.
But most cases aren’t caught early.
Only 15% are diagnosed in stage I.

That’s why awareness matters. That’s why I’m writing this.

She was more than what the numbers say

She wasn’t just a “1 in 78” lifetime risk.
She wasn’t just a statistic on a teal ribbon.

She was my mom.
She was the glue that bonded our family. She was never afraid to speak her mind. She always put other before herself. She gave the kind of hugs that made everything feel okay, even when it wasn’t.

But since she’s gone…
She never saw me graduate high school.
She never saw me graduate college.
She never watched me chase my career.
She never got to console me in heartbreak.
She never saw the pieces of herself in the things I now love.
I’ll never get to bring my future husband home to meet her.
I’ll never get pictures with her at my wedding.
My future kids will never meet their grandmother.

Grief stole those moments.
Cancer stole her.

I made a promise to her—and I’m keeping it

The day we lost her, I promised I’d make a difference. Even if I only reached one person—one woman who learned the signs, one daughter who got her mom checked out in time—it would be worth it.

Now, I’m part of the Ovarian Cancer Research Alliance (OCRA) Advocate Leaders Program. I speak out, I share symptoms, I wear teal in on World Ovarian Cancer Day and every day. Not because it’s easy, but because it matters.

Because awareness isn’t optional when you’ve lived through what I have.
Because if we had known what we know now, she might still be here.

What I want you to know about ovarian cancer

Ovarian cancer symptoms often include:

• Bloating
• Pelvic or abdominal pain
• Trouble eating or feeling full quickly
• Needing to urinate urgently or often

If these persist for more than two weeks—don’t ignore them.

If you’re reading this, you probably know someone who could be affected. Your mom. Your sister. Your aunt. Your grandmother. Your best friend. Maybe even you.

You don’t have to wait until it’s personal to care.

She was my mom before she was a statistic

And I’ll keep telling her story until we change the statistics—until early detection is real, until funding rises, until no daughter has to grow up the way I did: motherless in the moments that mattered most.

Honor her by paying attention.
Share this with someone you love.
And please—learn the signs.

Because what I wouldn’t give to go back and know them sooner—she might still be here today.