Illness and Death
Five months before the 1997 general election which took Labour to office, Mowlam was diagnosed with a brain tumour, a fact she tried to keep secret until the tabloid press started to print jibes about her appearance. Although she claimed to have made a full recovery, the various treatments caused her to lose most of her hair. She often wore a wig, which she would sometimes casually remove in public stating that it was "such a bother".
On 3 August 2005, the BBC reported that she was critically ill at King's College Hospital in London. She appeared to have suffered from balance problems as a result of her radiotherapy. According to her husband, she had fallen over on 30 July 2005, receiving head injuries and never regaining consciousness. Her living will, in which she had asked not to be resuscitated, was honoured.
On 12 August 2005, she was moved to Pilgrims Hospice in Canterbury, Kent, where, seven days later, aged 55, she died. She was survived by her husband, Jon Norton (who died in February 2009 aged 53) and by two stepchildren. Mowlam died thirteen days after Robin Cook, another member of the 1997 New Labour Cabinet.
In January 2010, it was revealed by her ex-doctor that her tumour had been cancerous and was the cause of her death. Despite recommendations, she had withheld the true nature of her condition from Tony Blair and the electorate.
Mowlam was an atheist and was cremated in Sittingbourne on 1 September 2005 at a non-religious service conducted by Richard Coles formerly of 1980s band The Communards. Half of her ashes were scattered at Hillsborough Castle (the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland's official residence) and the other half in her former parliamentary constituency of Redcar.
Read more about this topic: Mo Mowlam
Famous quotes containing the words illness and/or death:
“For each illness that doctors cure with medicine, they provoke ten in healthy people by inoculating them with the virus that is a thousand times more powerful than any microbe: the idea that one is ill.”
—Marcel Proust (18711922)
“For in the word death
There is nothing to grasp; nothing to catch or claim;
Nothing to adapt the skill of the heart to, skill
In surviving, for death it cannot survive,
Only resign the irrecoverable keys.
The wave falters and drowns. The coulter of joy
Breaks. The harrow of death
Depends. And there are thrown up waves.”
—Philip Larkin (19221986)