What a Death Doula Has Learned About Life’s Final Chapter

The Journey of a Death Doula: Finding Meaning in Life Through the End

On a cloudy morning in Dallas, I sat idling in traffic and saw a billboard for a children’s hospital. On it was a mother cradling her newborn baby—a stark contrast to where I was headed. That day, I was visiting patients nearing the end of their lives as a death doula, also known as an end-of-life doula.

This role has brought me into the homes and hearts of people during one of life’s most vulnerable moments. I sit with adults in hospice care during their final days, offering comfort, support, and understanding. Many assume this work must be filled with sadness and despair, but instead, it inspires me to cherish every moment of my own life. It has deepened my awareness of mortality and taught me how to help others navigate the complex emotions tied to dying.

My journey into this field began four years ago when my father transitioned to home hospice care. Watching him lie in a hospital bed in our living room, I felt unprepared and overwhelmed. A nurse handed me a bottle of morphine and explained how to administer it, leaving me riddled with anxiety. Would I make a mistake? Would I harm him unintentionally?

The night before he passed away, I called the on-call hospice nurse, panicked about his labored breathing. She offered to come, despite being eight months pregnant and an hour away. Her words—”You can do this”—gave me the courage to give him the medication she instructed. In the early hours of that morning, while I stepped out of the room briefly, my father passed away quietly. Guilt consumed me for not being there at the very end.

Determined to understand what had happened and to find meaning in the experience, I researched death doulas. Six months later, I enrolled in a training program. My family worried about the emotional toll of this work, but I knew I could provide others with the knowledge and support I desperately wished I’d had during my father’s final days.

Around the same time, my elderly neighbor passed away, and I adopted her 8-year-old dog, Gaia. With her calm demeanor, Gaia quickly became a certified therapy dog after only a few sessions. Together, we began visiting hospice patients, bringing comfort and companionship.

One spring day, I sat beside an 80-year-old man surrounded by his wife and sons. He made a gurgling sound—familiar to me from my father’s passing. I reassured the family it wasn’t a sign of pain but a natural part of the dying process. They were relieved to hear this, just as I would have been years earlier.

Another visit took me to a quiet room where a daughter and her siblings gathered around their mother’s bed. When I mentioned that their mother could likely still hear them, they realized the importance of their presence and words. Hearing is often the last sense to fade, and knowing that helped them feel more connected.

Through my training, I learned that many patients wait until loved ones leave the room to pass, sparing them the sight of death. Others hold on until unresolved issues are settled or until a cherished visitor arrives.

This work has prompted me to reflect deeply on my own end-of-life wishes. I’ve documented everything—from burial preferences to financial details—in a notebook and digital format, hoping my family won’t need to use it for decades. But peace comes from knowing I’ve taken the burden off them.

For years, I avoided discussing death, influenced by my mother’s superstitions. But becoming a death doula changed everything. Understanding the dying process has eased my fears and reminded me not to take life for granted. While I can’t change my father’s final hours, I can honor his memory by helping others face death with grace and dignity.

When I meet families like mine once was, I strive to remove the mystery and anxiety surrounding death. Most importantly, I offer them something I didn’t have—preparation.