IT was the 18th of December 2017. That was the day we took mum to the hospice.

A few days earlier we had driven her for an hour or two around Inverclyde for a last look, though the journey was never billed as such.

Now the 18th of December is not a good time to be not well, far less going into the hospice, if you come from a family of butchers.

When mum was comfortably installed, and we were taking our leave of her, she quietly said to me I’ll see if I can hang on until you get all the turkeys out the door. And hang on she did, holding court as one after another came to wish her well on her journey.

With the turkeys out the door she was happy to hear that all had went well. I’d better see if I can hang on till you get the steak pies away next week then, she said.

On our last trading day of the year with the Ne’er Day pies flying out the door I got the call mid-morning from the hospice. 'You’d better come down'.

She was sleeping. Her hair swept straight back. The struggles of the previous months had left her. She looked youthful. Her breathing was getting weaker. Her fingers getting colder as I held her hand.

And exactly as the Westburn Church clock chimed twice she left us. No drama. A moment of privileged beauty. That was it. Over. I spent a few minutes alone with her. I kissed her forehead and said thanks, before leaving to speak to the undertaker.

I duly headed back to the shop, where they were getting cleared up. Did you get rid of all the pies, I asked. We sold the last about two o’clock, says Eddie. I smiled.

Few of us locally will not have been touched in some way by the work of the Ardgowan Hospice.

We will have witnessed their professionalism at first hand. We will have experienced a place of quiet joy, of celebration, of kindness, of serenity.

It is a place that makes us feel different to what we might have expected. There is no depression. Perhaps a respectful sadness. It is a place of hope.

Sixty per cent of the folk that go into the hospice come back out again. There are eight beds but the work of the hospice is so very extensive. So much more than just eight beds.

Professional support services covering so many aspects of palliative care. An army of volunteers each playing an important part, whether that be driving or reception duties or a multitude of other tasks. And, of course, the fundraisers. That never-ending task of raising the finance needed to operate.

I visited the hospice last week and got chatting with Graham Gardiner, the CEO. He told me one thing that stuck with me. When we look at hospices throughout the country, he said, the average giving per household per year in each hospice’s area is £8. In Inverclyde it’s £32.

What an amazing figure that is, and one that everyone in Inverclyde should be immensely proud of.

The purpose of my visit was to view the two new family rooms that have just been created.

One is like a small contained bedsit.

A wee kitchen area, en suite facilities and a fold down settee where relatives can be close at hand.

The other room is like a large lounge. Ideal for a ‘date night meal’ or as Graham was telling me, as a place to have friends' round. A boys’ night recently had one lad enjoying the company of his mates. Bottles of beer and takeaway food and no doubt some decent black humour thrown in for good measure. A room to be used to the maximum. A room to feel the love.

The Ardgowan Hospice though is bursting at the seams. Expansion is needed soon. Central government money will almost certainly be required. Fundraising activities will need to be increased to maintain and expand the many services already being offered.

Inverclyde will rise to this challenge. We might as well all start now.

There are lots of ways to donate. You will be well acquainted with most of them. Send them a cheque if you like. Nelson Street is the address. Or just hand one in at the reception. You’ll feel the benefit now. You might feel it again in the future!