Taking time...

With the R rate moving in the wrong direction and fatigue setting in, it's all a bit bleak. The roads were decidedly busier on my way in to the Hospice this evening.

When I was approached to swop my fundraising focus from red squirrels and Manchester's mosslands to palliative care, I'll be honest, I really wasn't sure. I'm a bit of a softy, sadness settles on me and I soak it up like a big sponge.

Proximity to people being forced to let go presented a personal challenge in many ways. Whether it's seeing the beakers on the kitchen trays, that have to be used because people can't eat normal food anymore, or hearing the dull ache of the beeper from the wards because someone needs help and that noise carries further than a human cry for help...it's all pretty tough for someone with the constitution of a cowslip.

(Cousin of the primrose, an early Spring flower that used to thrive in ancient hay meadows and woodlands and a rare sight these days - little nod to my Wildlife Trust past there...)

It's especially tricky when all you can do is listen (to raw grief in all it's guises) or ask (for crucial cash to plug the financial gaps).

But sitting on reception, covering for volunteers who can't come in anymore because of vulnerablity to Covid, has reaffirmed the correct nature of the decision I made to do what I do. I definitely couldn't be a nurse, there's no doubt about that. I would not be able to unsee the sights they are accustomed to. It sends a shiver down my spine when I do get to hear snippets of the more brutal elements of their job.

But I ask because I care, and because I'm supposed to be able to bust myths about what Hospices are here for, so that people are inspired to invest their hard earned income to support strangers requiring comfort behind closed doors.

Of course, a Hospice can't take away all the pain of seeing a loved one gradually or sometimes rapidly losing the battle to stay alive. But they can create a safe place for someone to depart with dignity and when relatives return to collect a bag or two of belongings?

The air of calm and weirdly, continuity - as things seem just the same on the surface despite the myriad of emotional memories and moments taking place in the private rooms and wards, remains. The radio playing in reception, the collection of gifts to buy in the shop cabinet and the celebration tree with bronze, silver and gold memory leaves, screwed to the wall.

The faces of (the now few) visitors are different, but the expressions are the same. A combination of relief, sadness and shock or an inability to comprehend reality not necessarily in that order. These feelings are brought into sharp focus while the rest of the world is no longer normal.

Someone told me tonight that they couldn't cry, that everything felt numb. They were afraid to come in, it was the first time back since their loved one had died, but then, as they walked in through the front doors everything was the same. This reassured them. They mentioned the radio and I was relieved they didn't notice I'd changed the channel because there is honestly only so much 'Smooth' listening to that I can cope with - I quickly and rather ashamedly changed it back when they'd gone.

I'm not sure who it is more difficult for, the family members who can't come and see their loved ones, because the numbers are restricted, or the ones that can and bear the responsibility of representing the rest of the family - especially if they are in charge of technology to share precious visits. Food for thought next time you are bored of Zoom.

But we're all grappling with the reality of impermanence and uncertainly and all grieving for a loss of liberty and freedom. Just be patient please, don't flout the restrictions on freedom. They are in place, shakily or with calculated conviction that it's the best of a bad deal to do, to protect more of us from wearing the mask of grief.

Not the cheeriest of starts to the weekend, or the most rock and roll of Friday nights so far, but I'll go home a little more humble this evening. Thought I'd share.

And if like me, you're saving a fortune on takeaway coffee and unnecessary fashion items, impulse buys that are no longer pressing that 'get me' button?

Here's a way to make a difference...

https://www.sah.org.uk/get-involved/donate/make-a-donation/