A Tribute to my Dad - Michaela Hyde

When people hear the word hospice, they often think only of end-of-life care. That’s certainly what our family thought. We had no idea that Saint Francis Hospice would become such a significant part of Dad’s life, or that it would support all of us through one of the most challenging and emotional times of our lives.   
   
My dad, Neil Poole, died at Saint Francis Hospice on 25 March 2025, aged 75. He was a brilliant husband to my mum, a loving dad to my sister and me, a much-loved grandad to his five grandchildren, and someone who made a lasting impression on almost everyone he met.   
   
Dad spent many years working in schools, leading assemblies, and teaching lessons about faith. He had a special gift for connecting with children. He was funny, cheeky and full of life, and children seemed to instinctively warm to him. I remember him visiting my son’s school and my son telling me afterwards how everyone thought his grandad was cool. He absolutely loved that.   
   
Music was another of Dad’s passions. When driving with the grandchildren in the car, much to their amusement, he loved to turn up the volume of the music and sing along at the top of his voice (a favourite was the The Final Countdown). He was a big kid at heart, always making us laugh, always looking for adventure. Even after being diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease at just 57 years old, he refused to let it define him. He continued to embrace life and he tried falconry, fishing and he even had a go at learning the guitar! He approached life with a determination and enthusiasm that never left him.   
  
Alongside Parkinson’s, Dad also lived with Crohn’s disease and had experienced ill health for much of his life. As his Parkinson’s worsened, he began suffering severe nerve pain. In 2023, a community nurse suggested we contact Saint Francis Hospice because of their expertise in pain management. Until then, we simply hadn’t realised that hospice care extended so far beyond the final days of life.   
   
In a very short space of time, the hospice responded to mum reaching out to them for help.  A member of the team visited Mum and Dad at home, and not long after, Dad was admitted to the hospice ward for pain management. It was there that we first experienced the extraordinary kindness that seems to run through every part of the hospice.  One memory that always stands out is of Emma, one of the nurses. Dad had been unable to have a bath at home because his mobility had deteriorated so much. Emma arranged for him to have a bath at the hospice, and it brought him such joy. And it also bought Emma a lot of joy when she heard Dad singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of his voice! He just loved to sing and enjoy life when the opportunity arose, regardless of the circumstances. This may sound like an ordinary moment, but it meant so much to him and us that he could enjoy the simple pleasure of a bath.  
   
We were hugely grateful for Dad’s care during his first stay, and we saw Dad (and our family) as very much part of the hospice community. At the time, I remember we found it hard to put into words, just how much the support of the hospice meant to us.  I remember too, that despite dad’s struggles to communicate well, he always felt safe and had trust in the nurses and doctors – not something he felt everywhere.   
 
When his health deteriorated significantly in March 2025 and we were told he was reaching the end of his life, we were incredibly grateful that a bed was available for him at the hospice. By then, speaking had become even more difficult for Dad and eventually he was unable to communicate at all. Yet every member of staff continued to treat him with such dignity, respect and kindness. They never stopped talking to him, never stopped acknowledging him as the person he was. Even when he could no longer respond, they understood that he was still Neil, still listening, he was still a valuable human being, deserving love and care.   
   
The care extended far beyond Dad.  One of the kindest things the care team did was arrange for Mum and Dad to use a cuddle bed so they could lie beside each other. My parents had known one another since childhood. Their gardens backed onto each other, their families were friends and they grew up together. Mum was 18 and Dad was 20 when they married, and they shared 55 years of marriage. They were deeply in love. Even when illness took so much from Dad, he still wanted Mum close to him. Those moments together meant everything.   
   
The hospice also cared for Mum with warmth and tenderness; one day, a nurse noticed she had barely left Dad’s side and insisted she go to the café and have something to eat, saying, “I’ll sit with Neil.” Small acts like that spoke volumes. They saw what we were going through, understanding that families need caring for, too.   
 

During the three weeks we spent at the hospice, we were able to be together as a family. We shared stories, laughed at old memories and supported one another. Despite the heartbreak of knowing we were losing Dad, the hospice created a space where we could simply be a family.   
   
Faith was central to Dad’s life, and it brought him a great deal of comfort throughout his illness. During Dad’s admission at the hospice for pain management, Paula, from the pastoral team, spent time with him, talking and comforting him which Dad so appreciated.  When he was admitted for end-of-life care, Paula was once again there to support Dad and Mum which was very special. 

   
Even after Dad died, the support did not end. Mum received bereavement counselling through the hospice, both individually and in groups, which helped her enormously. On the first anniversary of Dad’s death, our family returned to the hospice. We visited the Memory Tree where we had dedicated a leaf to him, spent time in the beautiful Sanctuary and walked through the beautiful grounds. We laughed, we cried and we remembered Dad exactly as he would have wanted us to. It felt like the right place to be.   
   

When I think of Dad, I think of someone who loved deeply and was deeply loved in return. I think of his sense of adventure, his humour, his faith, his love of music and his unwavering devotion to his family. I think of the wonderful husband he was to Mum, the fabulous grandad he was to his grandchildren and the incredible dad my sister and I were fortunate enough to experience throughout our lives. This level of gratitude is hard to put into words.   
   
And when I think about Saint Francis Hospice, I think about relationships. Ultimately, that is what matters most in life. The hospice understands that. They cared not only for Dad’s physical needs but for the people who loved him. They gave him comfort, dignity and compassion, and they gave our family the space and support we needed to be together during the hardest time of our lives.   
   
I cannot praise Saint Francis Hospice enough. We arrived knowing very little about what a hospice could offer. We left with overwhelming gratitude for the care Dad received and the love that surrounded our family every step of the way. For that, we will always be thankful.