Jade Goody's Mum - One Year After Her Death

Sunday 14th March 2010


Jackiey Budden, 51, south London


Mother's Day used to be one of the best days of the year to me.
But all that changed last year because it was the day my daughter, Jade Goody, died from cervical cancer. She was 27.
JADE GOODY, RIP , the front pages read.

You'll probably remember my Jade as the daft girl from the third series of Big Brother. That same 'daft girl' went onto be the first reality star to make £1 million.

But what she did for me over the years meant more than the papers could ever know.
It all started when she was 5. I'd had a motorbike crash that killed my brother Martin, 19, and left me without the use of my left arm.
Overnight, Jade went from being a little girl to my mum. She cleaned, she ironed, she kept house.

Truth was, I wasn't a decent mum back then.
I was a mess. I got addicted to crack and didn't get off the stuff until Jade was 19.

Her dad, Andrew, was a heroin addict who'd left when Jade was 2. He died of an overdose in the loos of Kentucky Fried Chicken.
I know, pitiful.

In May 2002, Jade went into the Big Brother house. What happened next was television history. That drunken striptease, asking whether East Angular was abroad…
But I watched every second and couldn't have been prouder when she came 4th on the show.

Jade may not have been brain of Britain, but she was canny and hard working. Fame and fortune came quickly.
She'd also fallen in love with another reality TV star, Jeff Brazier, now 31.
Within just two months of leaving Big Brother, Jade was pregnant with Jeff's baby, Bobby, now 6. The following year, she had Freddy.

Suddenly, the tables turned. After all those years of Jade looking after me, this was my chance to be a proper mum.
I moved in with her, cooked and cleaned, and babysat when she had photoshoots.

Not to mention taking her to the doctors for tests, because she was suffering from heavy bleeding.
She'd had three abnormal smear tests and had had pre-cancerous cells removed from her cervix since the age of 16.

I was her shoulder to cry on when she'd split up with Jeff when the boys were 3 and 2, and
she started dating Jack Tweed, now 22.
As for Jack, I'm sure you're dying to know what I thought of him. Well, he wasn't perfect. He drank too much and got into fights, but he also made Jade's eyes light up like I'd never seen before.
'I love him, Mum,' she'd say.
If my Jade was happy, I was happy.

In August 2008, she flew to India to appear on their version of Big Brother. When I got a call from Jack at 2am just three days after she'd got there, I assumed he was just missing her. Until…
'Jade's got cancer,' he blurted down the line.
'All right Jack,' I yawned, half asleep. I hung up, not really thinking.

But then the phone rang again and this time I heard Jade's sobbing voice.
'Mum,' she cried. 'I've got cancer.'
Suddenly, my mouth went dry and I couldn't think, let alone speak.
'Don't you care? I'm dying!' Jade screamed, slamming the phone down.

I was still trying to get my head around it when she called straight back.
'I'm sorry, Mum,' she sobbed.
Three days later, she came home for further tests. Her cancer was aggressive, but she was determined to fight it.

The only time I left her bedside over the next four months was when I babysat the boys and her friend, Kevin Adams, took her to chemo.
Her cancer was terminal and there was nothing I could do. It was the wrong way round, a daughter dying before her mother.
And her boys, how on earth would they cope without their mum?

When, on 22 February 2009, Jade and Jack were married, her beaming smile was splashed all over the papers.
Her boys looked so smart and handsome.

But what you couldn't see was the pain she was in. She needed morphine shots every 15 minutes just to make it through the day.
It broke my heart, but I couldn't deny it any more. Jade was going to die. Soon.

She must have been living for that wedding because just two weeks later, all her strength deserted her and she came home for the last time.
A fortnight later, she was drifting in and out of consciousness and we knew she didn't have long. So we brought the boys round to say goodbye.

They were terrified, seeing her lying there in her makeshift bed in the dining room.
'She can hear you,' I whispered.
'Mummy,' Bobby said. 'I got a gold star at school for my neat handwriting.'
Suddenly, that beautiful smile spread across Jade's face. Eyes closed, she lifted her arms and tried to clap, but was too sick to manage it.
Proud mum to the end.

That was the last time the boys saw her alive.
The next night, I fell asleep by Jade's bed and the nurse woke me in the early hours.
'It's time,' she whispered.

It was 3.55am on Mother's Day.
Jade should've been spending the day with me and the boys, as usual. I'd have got them to make her cards. And in the evening, Jade would've taken me out to dinner.

I spotted an envelope on her bedside table with my name on it.
When I opened it and saw the Mother's Day card with a picture of a teacup on it, I was crying so much I could hardly read the words.
You're strong like a teabag in hot water. Love, Jade.

Close by, Kevin recited the Lord's Prayer. I held Jade's hand until it went limp, then lay my head on her chest.
She'd taken her last breath.
'You're not in pain now,' I sobbed, never wanting to let my baby go. Not now. Not at 27. Not ever.

I clung to that card for the rest of the day, only putting it down to wash her body. I'd never been a perfect mum, but God, I'd look after Jade now, for her, and for her boys.

Jeff took them to Australia after to be away from the media attention. I spent the next two weeks planning the funeral at St John's Church in Buckhurst Hill, Essex.
Inside the church, I clung to Jack as a choir sang The Beatles' Let It Be.

Afterwards, the grief was unbearable. I didn't leave Jade's house and weighed only 6st by the time Kevin convinced me to go on holiday.
We flew to Tenerife, taking Jade's pink toothbrush. Sounds silly, I know. But it was the one thing I'd always done for her, made her brush her teeth. And it made me feel closer to her.

Often, I'd feel her presence. 'Call to me and I'll answer,' I'd say, and it would be like she
was there, in the room.
I'd had the phrase tattooed on my left foot.

Even after death, Jade couldn't help put in her two penn'th worth.
'Mum,' she said in my ear one day. 'That tattoo's lovely. Can you have the butterfly done too?'
I swear I heard her voice as loud as if she was there next to me. Was I freaked out? Not a bit.
So I had a yellow butterfly tattooed on my left thigh.

Seven months later, Jade's agent called.
'Jack's been charged with rape,' he said.
Anger raged inside. Jack wasn't perfect, but surely he wasn't capable of this?

I decided that with Jade gone, I had to stand by him. He was innocent until proven guilty. And if he isn't innocent… so help me God, I'll cut his throat! Extreme, I know, but I'm not a woman who does things by halves.
All I can do is wait for the case to come to trial in two months' time.

The boys keep me going. They live with Jeff, but I see them every other weekend and some
school holidays.
In December, I got something else to take my mind off things, too – a toy boy, no less! It's still early days with Aaron Woodhouse, 30, but for the first time since Jade's death, I'm smiling.

And this Mother's Day, the first anniversary of Jade's death, I'll smile as I remember my brave, brilliant girl who got the whole world talking.
Hopefully the boys and I will spend the day making cards for their mum and laughing over our favourite Jade memories.

She'll talk to me on Mother's Day, I know she will. I wasn't the best mum to my girl, but I'll be the best nan possible.
I'll make you proud, sweetheart. Promise.