Daughter shares her Hospice experience just days before her dad dies

Jenni’s dad, Ken Middleton, was cared for at the Inpatient Unit at the Hospice. She very kindly shared her experience just days before he died – and recently reflected on that period after his death.

“Earlier this year, my 87-year-old father had a stroke, and he was admitted in the early hours of a Saturday morning to A&E at Addenbrookes Hospital in Cambridge, before being moved to an acute stroke ward. I visited him on Sunday, and he was on fantastic form. He had always been so incredibly resilient, we used to joke he had nine lives, like a cat – so we felt confident this would be no different, and he would soon recover. But on Monday, the consultant told my mother and me that they couldn’t treat Dad, and that he might not make it through the night.

My mum, my brothers, a sister-in-law, my husband and I all assembled for a bedside vigil – we’d been through a few of these before. We thought that would be the last time we’d see him. But, true to form, Dad rallied for a couple of days – although he never was able to communicate with us properly again. On Wednesday, the palliative care team suggested moving Dad to Arthur Rank Hospice.

I knew about hospices and what a good death should look like. As the former Editor of ‘Nursing Times’, I’d written about the topic a few times. So I knew what I wanted for Dad: a dignified death, and a chance for Mum to say goodbye to him in a way that felt right for both of them. I wanted the whole family to be able to calmly say goodbye.

I knew Arthur Rank Hospice would be excellent it has a great reputation locally. I had high expectations walking in on that Wednesday, yet within seconds, those high expectations were surpassed.

Some of the family were not sure about moving Dad from the hospital because they didn’t know what to expect. But I think everyone who came here felt the same way as Mum and I did on that initial visit. I saw her shoulders finally relax after days of stress by his hospital bedside. Before we’d even gone past reception, she said, “I know that this is right.”

I’d cried a lot in those final couple of years about letting my parents down. As Dad got more dependent, this put a strain on Mum, and I couldn’t support them the way I wanted to. But being at the Arthur Rank Hospice gave me a chance to do the right thing by them both. We’ll never regret this decision. Everything is so comfortable for the people who come as in-patients and for their visitors.

My family had lunch for my Mum’s birthday in the Bistro the day before my Dad died. There was also enough peace and space for me to keep working so I could be with Dad everyday. My Dad wasn’t the hugest fan of dogs, but we got Mia, a rescue dog, at Christmas and he seemed to enjoy her company. We brought her to see him because he kept reaching for furry and tactile things and her ears are like velvet.

All the staff at the Hospice talked to Dad and treated him with respect and made sure he was washed, dressed and comfortable. They were clear about what would happen when he died. We had brochures and information and access to a very supportive social worker, to help us navigate how to handle his death – logistically and emotionally.

We always talk about life and death as if they’re two distinct periods. But there’s this other phase. I described this time to my husband as feeling like you’re behind a thick, heavy stage curtain in the theatre. Performers can peek from the wings to see the audience, just as I could get glimpses of what life would be like without my Dad. You really need people around you to help you with that – and that is what Arthur Rank Hospice is for. It’s about managing this limbo stage that can be frightening and devastating.

It was hard to wake up every day, come to the Hospice and not know whether this would be the day we’d say goodbye. But being given the chance to do it here is the biggest gift I could’ve hoped for, for Mum and Dad, and for all our family. It feels like you’re enveloped in this massive bubble of kind people.

This is a path well trodden for that team, and yet it felt personalised and special. It always felt like my family were the most important people in the Arthur Rank Hospice even though we were not the only people going through this. Everybody made this as easy as they could for us.

On the day Dad died, a doctor, also called Jenny (with a -y), came to see us and told me she thought my Dad was a strong man. She was so right – he really was. She saw the person, not the patient. All the staff did.

Later that day, a hospital therapy dog, a whippet called Walnut sat on Dad’s bed and licked his hand. The nurse and I caught each other’s eye as it happened. This is a moment I will treasure forever, and it’s one we wouldn’t have had without the Arthur Rank Hospice.

When he died, I told the staff, and they came to verify his death. “You don’t need this anymore,” the nurse said to my Dad, softly and gently, as she removed his syringe driver. I will always remember those words and the way she spoke to him. He didn’t need anything anymore, but she still gave him respect and kindness. This typified his care, and ours, during those final days. Nothing felt rushed. Nothing felt too much effort. Everything was decent, kind, compassionate and caring.

Since Dad died, my Mum has knitted for the Charity, and we both went back to the Bistro with my husband and stepson – and Mia hoping for a few stray bits of roast meat – to celebrate Dad’s birthday. We’re looking forward to my Dad’s leaf joining the Memory Tree at the Hospice.

The Arthur Rank Hospice isn’t a place of sadness for us – it’s the scene of the last beautiful chapter of Ken Middleton’s remarkable life.”

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If you would like to find out more about Arthur Rank Charity, please do so here: arhc.org.uk.

It will cost over £14 million to run services at Arthur Rank Hospice Charity in 2025/26. If you would like to donate, please do so here: arhc.org.uk/donate/