I'm not religious, so if someone would've told me a reverend was going to have a profound impact on my life, I wouldn’t have believed them. A woman who was so brash and forthright in her opinion that it made me think if I’d experienced this sort of religion at Catholic school, I may have been more on board.
The type of chaplain who kicked arguing families out of a hospital morgue or confronted a homophobic patient who wanted Sunday service in their room. “Oh you weren’t expecting a gay deacon, but I’m all you’ve got today, take it or leave it”. Her almost “anti-hero” approach was what drew me to her. That idea that there wasn’t a right or wrong way to live, that it was just about holding space for someone, whether they were religious or not, whether they wanted her or not.
On the first day of meeting Katie I had a cuppa with her, this was her way of figuring you out, what you were here for, to get to “the real bones of you”. I was meeting her as part of a tv production crew, knowing this woman would be my “in” if she approved. I wanted to keep things professional, but as soon as I’d sat down with Katie she could sense I was nervous. At this stage blood was still a huge trigger for my PTSD, and I was about to embark on filming a 2-month hospital series and she saw straight through that. She opened up about her own experiences, telling me how she’d seen the best and worst of humanity especially as she’d left the army before becoming a reverend. Then as soon as she’d stripped me to my fleshy parts it was “Right, first things first, off to the morgue”.
My instant thought was this really is going to be a baptism of fire, but actually it was all about showing the length of care that was provided by her. Once you die, you’re still within the walls, you’re still within my church and I’m going to continue to care for you and have your interests at heart. Taking the care to hold space for families in the place of rest, the morgue shouldn’t be somewhere hidden away. Katie was passionate about death, which sounds morbid, but it’s something that inevitably we all will face but it’s not something we should shy away from. Her passion to help others didn’t stop there either, it was how she collected food bank tokens for staff members so they didn’t have to do it themselves, her dog (Poppy) was the staff support dog, food bags like lunch bags and period products stocked up in shelves in her office just in case, no-one having to give a reason, but could just walk in to her office and take one. I mean even walking the halls with Katie you couldn't get down a corridor without being stopped or starting a conversation with someone. She said she wanted to know everyone by name, so that when and if the time comes, if they need something or someone I'll spring to mind.
"I'll meet myself coming backwards one of these days" a line she often barked as you'd see her marching the halls, sometimes even on her 'day off', but that was also in her very fabric, keeping busy! The only time she'd truly give herself was ultrarunning, packing a bag and going into the hills, something I wholeheartedly relate to as I've supported Michael, my partner, on many long distance trails. Being that partner waiting at the finish line, willing them over whilst also exhausted by the ordeal of worry. This was another thing Katie really helped me with, appreciating that the hills, the trails were where she felt truly free. A real adventure amongst the shit, but also her "socially acceptable self harm", that low self esteem taking a battering by brutalising your existence on the trails but also gaining so much from it. Not everyone can do what ultramarathoners do, especially the ones who are ex-military. They seem to have this drive, this force and ability to conquer pain like you wouldn't believe and I completely saw that in Katie. We really bonded over the need for the outdoors and the world of endurance.
Over the coming months I spoke to Katie about everything, whether I meant to or not, she had this insatiable way of prizing information from me, and I was supposed to be the producer. She helped me to talk about death with palliative patients, to talk to sensitive cases and the power of holding space, that most of these people just wanted to be heard. It helped me shed this sense of pity, this involuntary response we all have when we hear that someone is dying. That we're truly sorry. When in actual fact palliative care is different for each individual, as we often say in introducing people to cold water, never judge your experience by anyone else because we're all made up of different parts, of different strengths and weaknesses. It made me truly reflect on the idea of death, and that in some way our avoidance of it is how we see it as only the end. Of course I'm not talking about celebrating death, that's a touch too far, but actually listening to someone before judging a diagnosis helped me so much across the filming process and unfortunately it lead to putting that very idea into practice.
My Uncle Richard, who still to this day is one of the kindest and wisest men I ever had the pleasure of knowing. He had this aura and strength you couldn't fathom, a real drive for people and getting the most of them. He came in to my life whilst I was at university so he got me as an "adult" and he always treated me that way. In 2012 I was offered a job within the Olympics Hospitality sector and I was hesitant to accept, both my Auntie Jacqui & Uncle Richard offered me a room, which not only spanned the Olympics, it followed with the Paralympics and led into other hospitality work. If i'd never had that experience I'm not sure I would have had half the opportunities I've had over the past 10 years. It was never any trouble either he would only ask for an Evening Standard to be picked up on my way home, which if you're not savvy of London is a free publication found outside most tube stations. When I explained to him how I felt I could be in the way you always reminded me I "always had a home with them". Which I did rely on even in later years when they moved to Suffolk, I've spent many weeks there, just spending time away when I really needed it. It always feel like a home away from home, usually with Corrie on the telly! As Richard always claimed "he'd never missed one!"
When my Uncle died, I was in the developing stages of the hospital series I was working on at Newcastle Hospitals. I was the assistant producer, and at this stage it was getting to know each separate department that may be of interest for the series. We were looking to "re-humanise" the NHS frontline staff post lockdowns, to show these nurses and doctors are incredible people. (Much like how when you're a child you think your teacher sleeps in the classroom cupboard, we'd all reverted to that during covid but for the sensational NHS staff).
The night after my uncle died I was in a Sarcoma MDT meeting; which is a multidisciplinary team meeting to discuss patients with Sarcoma, which again is like the insidious older brother of Cancer. This was a multiple hour discussion of scans and care plans going forward, also reviewing patients yet to be seen. This meeting was hugely overwhelming, because as a producer these scans and test results that were ending in palliative care, life changing surgery were people and in my early stages of grief couldn't separate them. I had to step out, take a breath, and I did finish the shadowing morning with the Sarcoma team, which from the MDT led to meeting some of these patients face to face. Telling someone they have cancer is hard, being sat in the room as they're told without making any expression or judgement..... 10x harder. After I'd finished and said my goodbyes, I ventured back into the corridors and who should I bump into than Katie. Instantly knowing something was adrift, without saying a word swooped me into the chapel and passed me a hot drink. Didn't say a word just sat me there and said she was returning to check on me shortly.
It was in moments like this you saw Katie, the complete fearless and selfless woman she was. I felt incredibly guilty as she had two hospitals of patients to look after, let alone an assistant producer who was having some form of panicked grief amongst the feeling of not wanting to let anyone down. When she came back she insisted yet again that within these walls I was her problem, take the time I need and then go home. It's in these moments I saw so much of myself in Katie, those empathetic powers of knowing that someone doesn't want to talk. Knowing everything I needed just from looking at her, because we'd both experienced our fair share of trauma.
I think this is what I find really hard about Katie's death, because truly I saw a lot of my own trauma in Katie's eyes. A lot of my own struggles and self judgement. She became this beacon for me, that someone can find their navigational compass and their way even through the dark. They can turn such atrocities into something positive, and really make an impact on the world around them.
When I heard that Katie lost her battle with the darkness, of course there is grief, but there's also fear that selfishly accompanies that. Suicide ideology unfortunately is not something you can control in the moment, something that you can therapise your way out of instantly. It's a dark cave your mind retreats too when you're tired and know that there's no way out other than the relief of the act itself. I want to say at this moment though, that if you are experiencing any feelings of hurting yourself, please stay, please reach out to someone, whether that's a loved one or Samaritans or a healthcare professional. Just take that last part of your energy to tell someone, you'll be amazed about how much that will help.
I'm not saying this out of speculation either, I've struggled with suicide ideation before, I'm a lot better now don't get me wrong, but when you're in that space you don't see a way out, but there is. There are therapies and places you can go to talk to people, so when I say I'm scared, I'm not scared in the immediacy of it, but in the knowledge that when I get to Katie's age will I feel the way she did?
Speaking to a close friend days after Katie's passing, she reminded me I have 20 years to work on that. 20 years to remind myself that I can't pour from an empty cup, taking another lesson from Katie to know that this isn't an inevitable fate, as from our knowledge of palliative care, everyone is different. We all have a chance, and we can only increase our chances the more work we put in, the more self care we put in.
Her daughter's section of her Eulogy yesterday really stood out, with the resounding message that "broken crayons still colour" and that we're all in this pencil case together. This is the embodiment of Katie, as she would label herself as a bit mental and broken. Highlighting the day her funeral fell on to be "World Mental Health Day'. A day that I struggle with each year, from feeling that it's a jumped up social media trend to an almost smarmy offering of "it's ok not to be ok" with a side of "talk to your GP". I remember being on those trauma waiting lists, and post care accident, post terroist attack I had to wait 7 years until I saw someone. "World Mental Health Day", just made me say it's not that easy! But hearing Katie's daughter, talk about her mother weeks after her passing with such strength and eloquence it made me take a beat.
After Katie's funeral I had a reiki session and watched Ted Lasso with Bo curled up on my lap. Maybe instead of feeling like I need to be a voice for others on WMHD, this should be a self-care day from now on, not only for my own mental health, but for Katie. A truly wondrous soul who transcends mortality.
You can rest now Captain, but I just hope you knew in some small capacity how much you impacted and enhanced people's lives. You were a beacon for so many, but I hope you've found your peace <3