Before Deborah Finck died at age 57, she made a name for herself on social media by sharing her thoughts on life, family, love and the lessons she learned after five years of living with cancer. Her messages and musings resonated with over 800,000 followers between her TikTok and Instagram accounts.
Deborah — who once appeared on the reality series Nanny 911 — was diagnosed with leiomyosarcoma, a rare soft tissue cancer, in March 2020. In the years that followed, she was constantly surrounded by her devoted family: her husband Paul and their three sets of twins — daughters Alex and Amanda, 29, daughter Katerina and son Steven, 24, and sons David and Daniel, 23.
It was Katerina who originally encouraged Deborah to start posting online near the end of her life. Since her death on Jan. 14, 2025, Katerina has continued creating social media content, with many of her videos paying homage to her mom.
This year marks the family’s first Mother’s Day without Deborah, and while she’s not physically present, Katerina tells PEOPLE they’ll be celebrating the way the late TikTok star would’ve wanted, with all six siblings together with their father. “She’s here in the way that we spend time with each other, talk about her and do things that we know would make her proud,” says Katerina.
In a heartfelt essay told to PEOPLE’s Zoey Lyttle, Katerina remembers her widely beloved mom and the precious moments they shared at the end of her life, both together and with their community of supporters online.
My mom was the type of person who made friends with everyone. She could talk to the wall and have a great time. We’d meet people in elevators, and she’d invite them over. I knew my mom would love sharing her life on social media, and at the end of her life, it did become a crucial outlet for her.
By the end of my mom’s cancer journey, the illness took away her ability to travel, bake and do so many things that she loved to do. She was sick and bored in the house, but making TikTok videos gave her something to do and more people to talk to.
Social media was also something we could do together. My mom and I have always been a good duo. I did modeling and acting when I was younger, and she was my cheerleader. I used to call her my “momager” back then. She always brought me where I needed to go and rooted for me the whole way there.
Plus, she loved being in front of the camera, always with a big smile. My mom also once wanted to get into acting and modeling, but she never saw it through. I think this — her viral fame on social media — was her moment of finally making that dream come true.
When I encouraged her to start sharing her story on TikTok in April 2024, I had about 130,000 followers as a dog-mom influencer. We’d already seen my growth online, and I knew her perspective had real potential to inspire the millions of people it ultimately did.
From day one of her diagnosis in 2020 through her eventual entry into hospice, my mom refused to accept that she would die of the leiomyosarcoma cancer they found in the pulmonary artery of her heart. She maintained her positivity throughout, even when things took an unprecedented turn for the worse last autumn.
I visited her regularly while she was sick, even though we were states away. My boyfriend and I live in Alabama, but I often traveled up to my parents’ home in Connecticut, where they raised my five siblings and me (we’re three sets of twins).
I spent a month up there in October 2024, which is when my mom started to get serious about posting on social media. She filmed herself being real, posting the truth and reality of her situation and sharing her will to live. She resonated with people going through challenges in their own lives and changed their perspective by sharing hers. Here was this sick woman reminding people how precious it all is and how much she would give for more time, saying, “Don’t be sad, always be happy, because life is really, really good.”
She loved doing it, and her increasing follower count reflected that the feeling was mutual. I’m still grateful for everything it gave us, especially at the end. Making TikToks made sense for us as mother and daughter. It was just another fun thing that we bonded over.
At any random moment, whether we were at home or in the hospital, she’d be like, “You want to make a TikTok?” and we would just get on and laugh. We’d talk to each other and talk to the audience like they were our best friends. And that’s what social media is about: making connections and making friends.
My mom basically went viral overnight, but during that October I spent in Connecticut, I could tell things were getting worse. Two weeks after I returned to the South, I got a call: “Mom’s not doing well.”
We all came to see her in the hospital that November. There, we made something special together. My siblings and I decided to come up with questions to ask our mom and record her answers.
She shared her favorite memories with us, and we asked her things like, “What do you want to tell us on our wedding day?” and “What do you want to tell your grandchildren about you?”
We also have a recording of her saying everyone’s name, calling each of us her favorite, which is kind of an inside joke in our family. When we were younger, she’d whisper in each of our ears, “You’re my favorite.” None of us knew she was saying that to all of us until one day when one of my brothers overheard her say it to another sibling.
But even after we realized everyone was getting the favorite treatment, she kept saying it to all of us individually, “Katerina, you’re my favorite. You’re my favorite.”
As meaningful as we made the time, November still marked a big decline in my mom’s health. She was having trouble breathing and coughing constantly, but her doctors said they couldn’t do anything about it. They couldn’t keep cutting out the tumor. They said she only had a couple months to live and told her it was time for hospice.
She refused it then, telling them, “I’m not doing that. I’m finding other options.” My mom never gave up, but I think she felt like she did when she opted into hospice the following month. That’s not how we saw it, though. To everyone else, we only knew she fought so hard.
She started hospice at home on Dec. 31, 2024, and I decided that I wasn’t going to leave her side. Even if she didn’t need me, I couldn’t do anything other than stay there and make sure she was OK. I knew that I just wanted to be with her.
A lot of my siblings live close enough to my parents that they were able to come and go easily, popping in throughout the week. Living so far away, I didn’t have that luxury, so it was just my dad and I always by her side until the end.
At that point, I had pivoted to doing content creation as my full-time job, so I had the flexibility to be there and step up while my dad continued managing his business. As long as I was able to be there for my mom, I was OK with any arrangement.
When the end neared, there wasn’t anything specific she wanted to do, but she wasn’t interested in sleeping all day long. We didn’t know how many days we had left, but my mom decided to make a TikTok asking her followers how the two of us should spend that precious time together.
We got a lot of great advice from different people, but one idea stuck out to me. It came in an email that said, “You should go wedding dress shopping with your mom because you won’t be able to get that moment back.”
She said her aunt works at a bridal gown store and wanted to help give us that experience, even though I’m not actually engaged. Unfortunately, that particular shop wasn’t in our area, but this kind person actually looked up shops that were close to us and called them to see who could help make it happen.
She found a bridal boutique run by people who said they would love to do it. They told me to pick 10 dress options, which they brought over to the house on a clothing rack. It happened exactly how we showed it in the video: I tried on every gown, and my mom shared her thoughts and rated each one.
Ever since I was young, I always told my mom that I was going to wear her wedding dress on my wedding day. But when everyone left that day and we stopped recording for TikTok, my mom told me there was one dress she really liked on me.
She reassured me that I didn’t have to wear her wedding dress or buy the new one she liked so much, but the decision was easy to make. I told her I wanted to get the gown she liked, and then I’d wear her dress for my future rehearsal dinner. Simple as that, she said, “OK. I’d like that.”
When my mom died two days later, everyone reminded me I wasn’t obligated to get the dress. They said I’d probably want to go shopping again when I was actually about to get married. But no, I told them, I would never want to replace that moment with something else.
We were best friends. Being with her at the end, I sensed she felt very safe with me and could tell me anything. There was one night in the hospital when my mom was feeling terrible and so scared. I wasn’t allowed to stay over in her room, so I went to the guest area to sleep. But then I got a call from her; the hospital staff had decided it was OK for me to come back.
We cuddled in the bed, and my mom shared stories with me that she said no one else knows. We laughed and we cried. She told me things that she said I need to know. She admitted just how scared she felt and how upset she was that she was doing this to me.
We all look up to our mothers. We don’t think they’re going to be scared. We think they’re braver than we are. And on social media, my mom was able to convey how much she loved living life, even in the final days of hers. She kept showing everyone that it’s always worth it to make a memory.
But in that moment in her hospital room, I realized my mom is just a person who doesn’t know what to do. She’s just a person who doesn’t want this to happen to her.
So I told her, “Mom, you’re my best friend. You are the best mom I could ever have and the best person that I know. I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”
All of my mom’s followers now follow me too, since she’s no longer around to create content. I’m grateful for them the way she was, for the same reasons. If she didn’t have her online supporters to talk to — the people who told her she’s not alone, who prayed for her and cheered for her — I don’t think she would’ve fought through it the way that she did.
I make content that brings in her memory. I post so many baking videos now, making recipes like my mom’s cinnamon rolls, and that’s because my mom was always in the kitchen before she was diagnosed. Every single time we would come home from school, she would have all these pastries, all of these different things made for us, because she just loved it. Anytime I smell bread, I think of her. Our house always smelled like bread, whether she was making homemade pizza or homemade Italian bread. Anytime I’m in the kitchen, I feel her presence.
I talk a lot about how I’m feeling on TikTok, and I know people might want to hear a lot more than I’m willing to share about my mom. But there are some stories and moments that I just want to keep to myself. I need to show up every day with a smile on my face and see the sunshine in the day.
er TikTok community seems really happy to see that I’m doing well on those better days. And when I share videos taken during the brighter moments, my mom’s followers tell me, “Your mom shines right in you. You are your mom, and she is always with you.”
My mom’s light was strong in the morning. She was that way throughout our lives together. When I was a kid, I’d come downstairs in the morning before school, and she’d tell me, “Good morning, sunshine.”
She kept up that disposition even after she got sick. If I woke up in Connecticut and my mom was feeling OK, “Good morning, sunshine. It’s time to get up!” was the first thing I heard. It always made me smile.
It continues to make me smile, actually, because my mom and her words are still with me at the start of each day. Every morning when I wake up, I think of her.