How did I get here? Part One

Nov 4, 2024

When I tell people that I’m an End-of-Life Doula or Death Doula, I tend to get one of two responses: some variation of “that’s awesome!”, or some version of “…what is that?”. But on both sides, nearly everyone follows up with: “what made you get into that?” After all, I was working in tech for a Unicorn startup up until 8 months ago. Well, the story heats up in 2022, but it really started in 1999 when I experienced the loss of a human loved one for the first time.

My very first friend was Nora*, a little girl of the same age who lived a few doors down from my childhood home. As babies, we played together at the neighborhood pool, each other’s homes, and we were in a play group together with a few other children our age. We were the only girls though, and I remember that being something we were very much aware of and very much proud of - ‘girl power’ was big in the 90’s. She got sick when we were 3 or 4 with what I now know was Leukemia.

She was sick and needed to rest a lot, but we still got to play whenever she felt up to it. One of my earliest memories is of the last day I saw her, which was also the first time that I saw her without hair. It had been a while since we had gotten to play because she’d recently been spending a lot of time at the hospital. I had a blast at our playdate, which mostly consisted of her sister, her, and me playing with their beautiful dollhouse that we loved so much. I remember thinking her bald head looked really cool and her being happy that we were playing and interacting exactly how we always had. In hindsight, I think she just felt like a “normal” kid for an afternoon.

I knew that she was seriously ill and wasn’t really getting better. And I’m sure that I was forewarned that she was likely going to pass away, but a child can [obviously] only understand so much about the permanence of death. It only started to sink in when I found out that she wouldn’t be joining my pre-kindergarten class, or any class for that matter. She passed away a couple of months into that school year. We were 5 years old.

I only recently realized that hers was the first end-of-life period that I had the privilege to be a part of. The feelings I felt, observations I made, and questions I conjured up during that time set the stage for my fascination with “good deaths” and helping to facilitate them. Since then I’ve experienced the losses of 7 more loved ones, each of which propelling me further along the path that lead to my certification as an End-of-Life Doula.

Everyone dies. So why don’t we talk about it? Or plan for it? Put measures in place to prevent regrets or guilt, ensure our final days are full of love and good experiences? Live a life that we’re proud to call ours? The obvious answer is that it’s uncomfortable.. but that’s a terrible excuse.

Until next time xxx

*Pseudonym