On Becoming A Death Doula

I am hoping to be concise here, but I do think my journey to becoming a death doula has been happening organically for quite some years, and it is only in the last year that I have been more actively immersing myself in the nuts and bolts of the practice.

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I never planned or asked to be sitting with someone as they pass. I just found myself being the only willing friend who was able to be present and not disturbed by a person actively dying and all that the surrounding pending death and after-death entails. I was able to shut noise out and, in a calm manner, take action and advocate for the person dying. I was determined to help them keep their autonomy and dignity. In all cases, the circle of care was very limited, if there was one at all.

 

The first being in 2018. I would imagine that this is the first true awareness that I had a skill that maybe others did not possess. I was able to drop my ego, my beliefs, and try and honour every wish of that person in a calm manner all through the stages of entry of hospice to post-death.

I was subjected to criticism, religious bias, culturally opposing beliefs, and frankly quite a lot of overbearing opinions.

 

I recall my dear ZB, the propelling force for me, winking at me from his “cot” in the hospice, each time a bossy or demanding friend or neighbor walked in to pay their respects.

There were very supportive hospice nurses; however, I was met with a lot of “I do not know, Tara”.

 

I helped with formulating end-of-life wishes.

I helped gather and plan for belongings. Very sadly, there was not a thought for end-of-life rituals or projects. It felt often like a mad rush to get all “business matters” taken care of before it was too late.

 

During the active dying process, I noticed in my quiet at the bedside, ZB reaching for the window, so I moved his bed so he could see, in his awake moments, the full rooftop view of East London animal activity—foxes, squirrels, birds, and cats. The hospice nurses were not worried or bothered that I had done that. However, I imagine in some places it may not be permitted. Or the medical circumstances may not allow a patient to be wheeled around.

 

I learned so much from just sitting. I learned so much from my inner stillness and my developing ability to listen and observe more deeply.

Active dying is not pretty, but it is a true privilege to be present with someone as they go through this transition. Even more amazing when the person dying is curious about their own death as it is happening.

I was educated by the hospice nurses at this time and feel so lucky I had that opportunity.

I was adamant at every stage this person had every need met. I would ask the nurses, why is he not dying yet? What could I do to make things more comfortable for him?

 

I learned that maybe he wanted to be alone. I hated that one of his last coherent sentences to me was “Im sorry for being such a burden”.

This shocked me to the core, how could anyone who is going through an end-of-life process, that every single one of us goes through, still feel unsettled in their last moments that they are being a bother to another human being? It made me angry and frustrated. This is the culture that we have created.

 

This man had lost his son to death by suicide, my long-term best friend, Gabriel. He had also lost the love of his life and Gabriel’s mother in the early 80s to a violent form of cancer. He spent the days and years following these tragedies by painting monumental oil paintings depicting his journeys with his deceased loved ones and their travels around the globe together. Still, on his dying days, he was apologizing for his present state.

 

I was not present during Gabriel’s death in 2007, but I felt the impact and helped his father pick up the pieces and put pieces back together again. They had been estranged for quite some years.

Had I had the knowledge I have now, I may have been able to be there in a stronger position for Gabriel in his last moments.

 

However, I just provided a mailing address for him to ship the few belongings of writings and music he had from a halfway house before his final act, not knowing what was ahead.

I am learning that there are stages where the soul starts traveling to the other side before the body finally leaves, and I saw that with ZB. His final words to our friend Brendan were “Hold on to the rock”.

 

He passed the night I left his side to go and get a break and be with my daughter. Left alone.

The years following his death have been nothing short of tumultuous for his current wife, living in India, who could not travel to be with her husband dying.

 

The chaos with legal entities and his belongings spread around the globe.

However, he left myself and my daughter the most wonderful gift. The freedom to explore these journeys in life more deeply.

 

Prior to this, I had visited my own father in his final days. A public hospital in the north of England.

 

I felt like he was also beginning to transition, and I came to visit where it was a very peaceful place for him. It had been a tumultuous relationship.

I noticed that the nurses were not covering up his body fully with a sheet. This frustrated me. Where was the respect for this human being?

My father had said that he was thirsty but could not, at this point, hold a cup.

I was running around looking for a straw. His dignity was being disregarded.

 

Back to feeling like his soul was also on the other side, back and forth, back and forth…Back and forth.

As I was about to leave, he mentioned he saw my daughter sitting on my shoulder. Sadly, my father never got to meet my daughter; she was very small at this time. Two or three years old.

His final words to me were “Tara, you always were on a pink cloud”. I knew at this moment my father was in touch with my true essence, and all the “noise” we had created between us in our living lives had been erased, and we were communicating on such a profound, beautiful, and welcoming level.

 

I left the hospital and, despite the sadness, felt there was some newfound peace happening around us.

 

The most recent experience I have had was in 2024 with a dear friend who had been battling cancer monumentally for years, exceeding any doctor’s expectations. Finally, she was ready to let go.

 

Her daughters messaged me asking me to come and visit for a cup of tea.

What greeted me at their home was initially something that I had never been prepared for.

 

Some things that nurses and doctors and hospice workers experience on a regular basis.

There had been a full organ shutdown. A skin colour that I had never experienced, and for a split second I thought I was being pranked.

I, for some reason, was expecting to be bedside with a cup of tea and a cookie. I had bought her favourite turmeric tea, thinking it may be soothing for her with all the side effects from treatments she had been having.

Clearly, that was not in the cards.

 

There were friends visiting. There was a variety of assumptions of what she needed for her comfort levels. There was TV with her favourite comedienne playing loudly and shrieks of laughter going on around. There was a lady placing different rocks on her body for relief.

 

I was in awe of the different noises coming at her and wondering what her wishes had been. She was, for the most part, unconscious. A little smile here and there, but really just waiting to go, I imagined.

 

I wondered if she had made a wish to be taken to the bathroom despite her physical state or conditions. At one moment, I was helping to lift her temporarily to a wheelchair to get her to the bathroom. Mission not completed.

 

She was such a beauty in life, and she passed within 14 hours of that time.

I was so grateful to have been able to be there and be shown yet a different aspect of this journey we are on.

Her after-life memorial was a testimony of how much love and life she had given people during her days on this earth.

The memorial service had people oozing out into the parking lot. Her favourite colour was purple, and she requested prior to death that we wear purple. I had never worn purple in my life, but I found my way of honouring that wish.

 

So with these moments and privileges, I have understood that, as humans, we have formed different rituals and beliefs surrounding death depending on the way we were raised or grew up. With my studies in the practice of doula work, I have learned so much more than I could ever imagine.

 

I am hoping that I dont bring any of my prior cultural conditioning into my doula work and simply bring myself to be of service to someone or someone’s circle of care in the most authentic way possible. Hoping to make an easier and more peaceful experience to an often misunderstood and sensitive time.

 

Now, having spent time with the dying on a weekly basis through hospice, I know that no one death is the same, and it is a true honor and humbling experience to just be present for someone, removing any judgements, biases, pre-conditioned beliefs, and just to be able to be a comfort in the way the patient wishes is my truest and greatest gift that I can offer -

 

Through this work, I am able to be a better mother and, in the way in which I walk my daily life, to be a better advocate for myself for when the time comes.