THE mortuary. The word doesn’t conjure up good picture. We all know what it is; the place where people who have died in hospital go until they are transferred to the care of the funeral director.

And so when my friend, with trepidation, wanted to go and see his young wife, he asked me to accompany him. He was anxious as we walked along to the mortuary; What was the room like? What would she look like? and a hundred more questions.

But when we got there, and were greeted by Hayley, his anxieties were removed. She welcomed us with compassion and kindness into a warm room with soft furnishings.

She explained where his wife was and how she would look. She said there was no time limit and that he could spend as long as he wanted. And when my friend was ready, she opened the door of the adjoining room and showed us in.

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And there she was, my friend’s wife, looking beautiful. They had put her in a lovely white nightdress; she was tucked up in bed and, for all the world, it was as if she was peacefully asleep.

I spent a couple of minutes in there just to say hello and left my friend to it. It was moving to overhear him speaking with her. He asked how he was going to get by without her; told her again and again how much he loved her; spoke to her about how her beloved dog was coping; and was firm in his belief that one day he will see her again.

After some time he came out to join me and we closed the connecting door. “I never really got the time I wanted to spend alone with her on the ward because it all happened so quickly,” he said. “But this visit has given me peace.”

When Hayley came back, he said how nice she had made his wife look and thanked her for the clean white nightdress that his wife had been changed into.

“It’s what we do,” she said. “We treat everyone as if they were own family.” I couldn’t have summed it up better myself.