I feel very honoured to be asked to represent the patient population who have benefitted from Wakefield Hospice.
There are obviously so many people who cannot be here to express their appreciation. However, I am convinced that so many of their families will recall a comforting aura surrounding their sadness when they think back to their hospice experience.
I have been asked 'What the hospice means to me'. This is obviously changed over the years and perhaps in its full entirety it may conflict with what some of the general public perceive to be the role of the hospice.
My first exposure was in 1988 following my mum's death, when money was donated in lieu of flowers towards the new building, at that time not yet out of the ground. Last week I went back to search for her name in the book and sure enough it was there - Moreen Colley right at the beginning.
Then in later years, I became absorbed in the whirlwind of lovely fundraising events associated with this charity. It meant acquiring a lovely new dress, dancing in a beautifully decorated marquee and plenty of wine and laughter. I recall Arabian horses and an ice sphinx in Woolley one year. Of course, there would be the usual raffle and an envelope to pop a £10 or £20 not in. (which of course you think you can't afford because you've spent it on the dress, taxi and babysitter!)
Time went by, but then unfortunately 7 years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer and then four years later with metastatic disease. More specifically this meant spread to my bones and liver. That was when the true impact of Wakefield Hospice hit me big style. I was invited to Day Therapy by a friend but I immediately declined. I didn't want to go to a place that I associated with dying, a bit too close to home. But however, I did.......
and what a surprise I got.
I remember walking in to Day Therapy for the first time to a lot of laughing and a lot of activity. I then visited every week and I can honestly say from this point my life turned a huge corner.
A typical day at therapy would be like this. I would pull in to the car park late, run in and sign in (usually I'd put that I'd got there 10 minutes earlier as I was always late). Somehow I would land in Carol's aromatherapy room, at which point she would ask how I was. I would then (although I didn't intend to) enter into a complete verbal outpouring and then collapse onto her couch and sob. To me, sob is a big word, it means you completely empty your heart of emotion and pass it on to someone else (without care of what they will then do with it all).
That couch tells a million stories, because it's the place at which you are at your most vulnerable and where you are truly yourself. When I was trying so hard to maintain strength and that armour of positivity, there still had to be a place where it could break.
For me it was that bed.
But what a wonderful place. Because once you have let it all out you can then be restored by the therapists and all their skills and their wonderful hand blended products, and their kindness. From there, you can pull yourself back up and face that adversity again with a sense of replenishment.
Then I would tumble out in a dazed state and sit at Ann's art therapy table and face a blank piece of silk that was supposed to become a scarf or something. Ann would say:
"Just pop a few colours on there Jo and see what happens". And you just think....
"I can't do that. I am trying really hard to control everything and keep it all together, but I can't go and do something so random and risky like let all that silk paint do whatever it wants. What if it all ends up in a mess because it's out of my control? What if it all ends up not as I intended?"
But you do it, and it's ok.....and actually it's freeing.....and you know that you don't have to be quite so worried next time.
Then another time you paint a picture and you have no idea what you are painting because you've learned to let it happen and then someone puts a name to it. "Wave" I think mine was called, and then it gets exhibited in QEGS with:
"Artist Jo Richmond" and "For Sale" beneath it. And it makes you think, "what's all that about?!" I never intended all that, but hey, it turned out ok.
Finally I need to mention the absolute wonder of deep friendship and peer support within the walls of this wonderful establishment. There is an ebb and flow of supportiveness and neediness in all of us. Somehow there is a wonderful balance within the hospice. When you need nurturing, it's there and when you've got enough left over, you can give it to someone else.
The staff have the skill of consistency at all levels. Both professional staff and volunteers continue to give, give, give.
For me the hospice was not the end but the beginning. I was replenished, restored, loved, cared for and empowered. Nothing was asked of me. Everything was given.
I now have a new business inspired by the aromatherapy treatments. I have grown and learned so much about myself and my hope is sustained. I also know that if life follows a different route that I planned, then yes at some point I may have to go with it. However, what a fabulous duvet of support is there to envelope me, and how blessed am I to have the security that it will always be there.
To me, Wakefield Hospice is a tribute to human nature at its best. Within its theme of light and hope, I want to quote George Bernard Shaw who said:
"Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for a moment and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations".
