2 September 2026
On 30 August 2026 Juanita Taylor generously shared the story of our care of her parents at our 29th Vintners’ Brunch. This is her incredible speech.
Nau mai, haere mai. Ko Juanita ahau.
I'm Juanita, and with me today are my son Peter, my sister Hayley, and her son Carter.
Recently I was asked if I would mind talking about my family's experience with Hospice.
Where do you start with a request like that, I decided to begin with what Hospice means to me.
Hospice is a group of amazing people who are there for you every step of the way when you need them the most. More than that, they are one step ahead of you. They know what you need before you need it. They are a comforting voice at the end of the phone. They are the gentle hug when you need it. They provide a friendly smile and a great laugh. They are the backbone of what gets you through. And they do it all seemingly from the shadows, they aren't intrusive, they are just there.
Our family has been lucky, or unlucky, enough to have Hospice walk beside us twice. First with Dad (lung cancer), and then more recently with Mum (breast cancer). And I say lucky, because having Hospice in your corner when life gets really hard, that is genuinely something to be grateful for.
Both experiences were different yet many similarities as well. Dad’s care was mainly provided at Hospice’s Red Beach site and Mum was cared for at home by Hayley my sister and myself with the support of Hospice. What was the same was the unwavering support Hospice provided.
Today I will focus more on Mum’s care but I did want to briefly acknowledge the support that Dad received.
Hospice talked to us about what Dad wanted, and explained all the services available to us. Dad was adamant that he wanted to be at home for as long as possible, but he also wanted to be in Hospice care when the time came.
It was the small things that Hospice did that made a big difference.
One extra thing that Dad talked about was the picture they printed out and hung on the door to his room – it was a yacht at sunset. This might not seem like much but to Dad it meant everything. Dad was a sailor and had spent many years sailing around the pacific. This image, somehow, said we see you. We know you. You are safe here.
After Dad’s passing, we talked about how we could give back to Hospice and nothing seemed adequate for all the support they’d given.
My sister Hayley joined Hospice as a volunteer and later worked at Tui House in Warkworth.
And at The Riverhead where I work, we offer our support where we can – with events like this.
In 2022 Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had successful treatment and then a relapse in 2024.
Again, Hospice was there. Again, one step ahead. Offering support from the very start, before we even knew we needed it.
Mum was very different to Dad. She wanted to be in her happy place, her home, right to the end. And she wanted to see everyone.
So, we had to make a plan.
How do we make the most of the time she had left?
It was close to Christmas, one of Mum's favourite times of year. Hospice came alongside us and helped us build something beautiful out of something impossibly hard. Massage, Medication management, conversations – being there for a chat and just, planning. Thinking ahead so we didn't have to. Having the difficult conversations and making sure things were the way Mum wanted them.
Hayley moved into Mum's. I followed not long after.
And that's when the real day-to-day reality of home care set in.
Looking after someone you love at home is one of the most meaningful things you will ever do. It is also one of the most full-on. There were days we didn't know what we were doing. Days where we second-guessed every decision. Days where we were exhausted and emotional and just needed someone to tell us we were doing okay.
Hospice was that someone. Every single time.
We became Mum's personal assistants, trying to get her to see every single person she loved, while carefully managing her strength. And she loved a lot of people. The doorbell and phone barely stopped.
Friends and Family came from Australia. People called on Zoom, FaceTime, and the phone. Because Mum loved people and people loved Mum, and Hospice understood that completely. They managed her care around it. They kept her as comfortable as possible so she could say her goodbyes properly, on her own terms.
Hospice taught us how to administer medications, and there were a lot of them. And then eventually the tablets stopped and we moved to a syringe diver , more learning, more support from Hospice every step of the way.
The practical things that Hospice helped us with, I can't overstate how much those things mattered. It wasn't just the nursing visits. It was the phone calls at 9pm to check in. It was the nurse who noticed Mum was getting stiffer and quietly suggested we look at different ways to help move her. How to keep her comfortable through the night, how to manage pain without panicking. Things you never imagine you'll need to know, until suddenly you do, and someone needs to show you, calmly and kindly.
As Mum moved through the stages and slowly got weaker, Hospice were always one step ahead, gently suggesting we try something new, and us often thinking do we really need that just yet? Then two days later, yes. Yes we did. A hospital bed. Sliding sheets. A commode. Each time we asked ourselves"do we need this yet?" and each time, within two days, we did.
We did have some laughs along the way. Those sliding sheets take some getting used to! We nearly sent Mum through the wall to her neighbour, Once you master them though, they were incredible she did scoot up the bed much more easily than us trying to lift her.
They arranged someone to help Mum shower. And we were blessed with a carer who took her time, who sat and listened to Mum's stories, who saw her, really saw her.
Hospice was always checking in, in person or on the phone. They encouraged us to talk with Mum about her funeral. Mum was reluctant at first, and then she realised it was her opportunity to help arrange something special. Mum loved colour, and that became her theme. Come dressed in something colourful.
And mini Magnum ice creams for everyone. That made Mum smile every time she thought about it.
Hospice visits made Mum smile too. They would ask how she was doing and she would say "I'm good" with a smile. How are you managing everything? "I'm good," another smile. But they knew to gently push a little further, and ask again, and maybe again, until Mum would say "well, I don't want to bother anyone, but…" The nurses who came to the house were beyond understanding, caring and compassionate.
Hospice visits went from once a month, to once a fortnight, to once a week, to every other day.
That's when we knew we were getting close to the end.
Through it all, they weren't just managing Mum's care. They were managing us. Checking that we were okay. Checking that our kids were okay. Holding the whole family gently in their hands.
Explaining the next steps. What to do when it happens. Who to call and when.
That is the gift of Hospice, they don't have one way of doing things. They have YOUR way.
We cannot thank Hospice enough. Not just for what they did, but for how they did it.
They were always one step ahead. They knew what we needed before we did. They walked beside us through the hardest days of our lives and somehow made those days hold moments of beauty, of connection, of love.
They gave Dad a yacht at sunset on his door, and peace. They gave Mum the chance to say goodbye to every single person she loved. They gave our family memories we will hold forever.
We need Hospice. And we need them to always be there.
To everyone at Hospice, we just want to say a massive thank you. Thank you for everything you did for us, and for everything you do for others.
You guys are amazing….
