Why I Became an End-of-Life Doula: A Journey of Love, Loss, and Purpose

“I didn’t get into this because I love death. I got into this because I love people.”

I’ve always been drawn to people and their stories. I’m interested in what shapes us, what we carry, and what matters most when life becomes difficult. I believe we all deserve compassion, understanding, and support through life’s most challenging moments.

I didn’t know exactly where that belief would lead me. But one experience changed the direction of my life and ultimately led me to become an End-of-Life Doula.

The Experience That Changed Everything

I had already been thinking about becoming an End-of-Life Doula. I’d talked about it with my life coach and friends, but I wasn’t sure what the work would look like or whether I could make it a career.

At the time, I was focused on caring for my dad (stepfather) whom I lovingly called Pops. He was 80 and living with severe dementia. Caregiving consumed much of my time and energy. I was just trying to navigate that journey one day at a time.

Then came the night that changed everything.

My dad was in the ICU, struggling to breathe as fluid filled his heart and lungs. I had been there since 11 p.m., speaking with medical teams and trying to understand what was happening. The decisions before me were frightening and overwhelming.

Years earlier, we had completed his advance directives and living will, before dementia had significantly affected his life.  We had also talked about his wishes and he told me he didn’t want extreme measures to prolong his life. However, this scenario was not in those documents.

The cardiology team wanted me to consider changing his DNR order so they could perform a procedure to drain the fluid from his heart. They couldn’t tell me whether he would survive, what condition he might be in afterward, or whether the fluid would return and require more procedures.

The alternative was to focus on his comfort and allow his life to come to its natural end.

From around 1 a.m. until 5 a.m., I went back and forth, weighing the options and trying to make the most compassionate decision for him.  He hated living with dementia, and I kept returning to those conversations as I tried to understand what he would have wanted.

Watching him struggle to breathe, hearing him call out that he couldn’t breathe, was more than I could bear. I needed to step outside.

A Sunrise, a Garden, and a Moment of Clarity

The sun was beginning to rise. Outside the hospital was a beautiful garden filled with trees and flowers. Birds were singing, and the morning sky was clear and breathtaking.

After hours of anxiety and exhaustion, I sat down and cried. I asked why I had been put in this position and why I had to make such an unbearable decision.

Then I turned inward.

Through my spiritual practices, I tried to connect with Pops soul-to-soul. I wanted to sense what he wanted for himself and whether he was ready to leave this life.

What happened next is difficult to put into words. I experienced a distinct impression of his soul trying to leave his body, only to be pulled back, almost as if by an energetic tether. I felt deep within me that he was ready to go and that the machines were keeping him here.

I also sensed loved ones waiting for him. I felt the presence of my mom, who had passed about six years earlier, and his mother, whom I’d never met. She had died when he was just three years old. I sensed her presence and heard the reassurance that she would take care of him.

I can’t explain this experience in a way that would make sense to everyone. I can only share what I felt and what it meant to me.

In that moment, I felt a deep knowing that Pops would not have wanted more procedures or continued suffering. I believed the most compassionate choice was to honor what he had told me over the years.

I returned to his room and asked the medical team to focus on his comfort, rather than proceed with additional procedures. They adjusted his treatment, and he gradually became calmer. His breathing settled, and he fell asleep.

Within about 20 minutes, he had passed.

Grief, Freedom, and the Mystery of Dying

As my Pops died, I felt his soul leaving the body. What came with that experience was a feeling of freedom, expansiveness, and joy – as though he were finally free from a body that had held so much suffering.

I remember telling the nurse, “He’s gone!” The monitors were still showing movement, but about 30 seconds later, he confirmed that he had passed. I had sensed the moment before the monitors reflected it.

That experience is difficult to capture. I was deeply grieving. My Pops was gone, and I had made an incredibly difficult and unbearable decision. At the same time, I felt an extraordinary sense of peace, wonder and awe at what I had just witnessed.

Both were real.

Afterward, the ICU staff came to me, hugged me, and thanked me. They told me what a beautiful experience that was. Their response stayed with me and led me to reflect on how difficult these moments can be for everyone involved.

I also thought about how fear of losing someone we love can make it difficult to consider whether further interventions may bring more suffering than benefit.  We can sometimes feel that choosing comfort means giving up, even when comfort may be the most compassionate option.

That experience changed me. I knew my life would not be the same, even though I didn’t yet understand how that change would unfold.

Finding My Way to This Work

After several months of grieving and taking care of the practical matters that followed my dad’s death, I returned to the idea of becoming an End-of-Life Doula.

I knew firsthand how overwhelming it can be to face the end of a loved one’s life, carry the responsibility of difficult decisions, and question whether you’re doing the right thing.

I couldn’t walk someone else’s journey for them or provide all the answers. But I could listen without judgment, offer education and resources, and help them navigate their questions and uncertainties.

I could meet them where they were.

I began researching training programs and eventually pursued my education as an End-of-Life Doula. My training, along with my experience as a Reiki practitioner and hospice volunteer, helped shape the way I support individuals and families today.

When I reflect on that night, I feel that Pops and I shared an experience that profoundly shaped my understanding of death. I believe there was meaning in the way our paths came together. I was there to help him through the end of his life, and the experience became a catalyst for the work I felt called to do; my heart purpose.

Pops was one of my greatest teachers. His final hours deepened my understanding of compassion, acceptance, and the importance of honoring a person’s wishes. They also reminded me that death can be a powerful teacher.  Facing our mortality can help us see more clearly what matters most and prompt us to ask: What matters most to me? What does quality of life mean to me?

Why I Do This Work Today

Today, as an End-of-Life Doula, I bring my experiences, education, and heart-centered approach to supporting individuals and families through the end-of-life journey.

Sometimes support means helping someone plan ahead. Sometimes it means sitting with an overwhelmed caregiver or helping a family prepare for the final hours of a loved one’s life. And sometimes it simply means being present when there are no words.

I don’t believe there is one right way to experience death. Each person’s journey is unique, shaped by their values, relationships, beliefs, and circumstances.

Death isn’t always peaceful. It can be complicated, painful, and difficult for everyone involved. Although we cannot prevent loss, we can approach the end of life with greater awareness, compassion, and openness.

My role isn’t to tell anyone how their journey should unfold. It’s to offer education, guidance, and a compassionate presence as they find their own way.

Because, ultimately, this work isn’t about death alone.

It’s about people. It’s about love. And it’s about how we care for one another through life’s most vulnerable moments.