🕊️ “A death doula?”
People often pause when I tell them I quit my “Corporate America” job to become a Death Doula. There’s usually a moment of silence, followed by a curious question: “What does that mean?” or “Why would someone choose that?” or sometimes I’m met with the same look of “ick” – HR is not always a fan favorite in a company!
It’s not the kind of job most people expect to hear. But for me, becoming a death doula wasn’t a surprising twist. It was a calling – something that made perfect sense once I stopped running from it.
💔 The Personal Grief That Shaped Me
I think most of my life experiences led me to this point. I hadn’t really thought about those experiences until I started opening up to others. My first job at 15 was in a nursing home, cleaning residents’ laundry. I would walk down the hall, passing rooms with residents in them, in order to put away sheets, blankets, and towels. I think my first week there I noticed a resident in bed, with the sheet pulled all of the way up. I remember thinking to myself, “wow, Joe is having a hard nap today”. What can I say, I was 15 and hadn’t been exposed to death yet. A few years later, my paternal grandmother experienced a series of strokes and an ultimate decline. I can remember driving from Mentor to Parma almost daily after work to sit bedside with her, watching baseball and threatening to paint her toenails the color of the Cleveland Indians. I could tell she was not thrilled with that idea. A year after she died, my paternal grandfather died. They died 11 months to the day apart from each other. That’s what 50+ years of marriage does I guess. I got to his room at Holy Family, his body still in there. I remember not being afraid. I remember talking to him and just sitting in there with him.
My journey after that led me into corporate roles, eventually Human Resources. I was plugging away, surviving, not thriving as they say. Then in May of 2023, the chaos began. My mom was diagnosed with Stage IV Ovarian Cancer. Needing to deal in black and white, I asked the ER doctor how long we were looking at. IF, and that was a big IF, I could find someone to do chemo on her, we’d maybe get 6-12 months. I never shared that with my mom.
By July of 2023, my paternal aunt, my light, my confidant, my person who knew about all three of my pregnancies before anyone else, started her decline. Caregiving mode was beyond activated at that point. I would pick my mom up for chemo, get her settled in to her chemo chair (with hot tea and Lorna Doone’s), drive to the other side of town to get my aunt from skilled nursing, take her to dialysis, drive all the way back to chemo, open my laptop, and begin the joy of back-to-back Teams meetings. Thanksgiving of 2023 was chaotic. Yes, there’s a theme of chaos here. After hosting family, I rode in the back of a transport vehicle to take my aunt from the hospital to hospice. I remember praying and begging to NOT let her pass in the transport. She died five days later.
January 2nd of 2025, I found my mom in a state that will live with me forever. Chaos. Squad had to be called to transport her to the hospital. It was three weeks of waking up, working out, rinsing and then spending the next 12 hours or so at the hospital. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Falling asleep at night was a challenge. I’d replay the day, the “should’ve, would’ve, could’ve” scenarios in my head. It was hard. There’s no other way to describe it. After she died, there was a sense of relief. Then there was a sense of guilt that came with that relief.
After my mom died, there was no way I could go back to Corporate America. Not only was my cup not getting filled, but there was also just too much “ick” that transpired and I knew I needed a drastic change. I quit my job and focused on not only hopefully wrapping up my aunt’s estate (that’s a story for another blog), but I needed to clean out my mom’s house and get it sold.
I witnessed people I love suffer in silence. I’ve felt the pain of losing someone without having the right words, the right support, or the chance to fully prepare. There were moments that left a mark – watching someone die without peace, or seeing a family frozen in confusion, unsure of what their loved one wanted.
Grief can feel chaotic when there’s no guidance, planning, and resolution to difficult (unspoken) conversations. I remember thinking, “There has to be a better way to do this. How can I help others avoid my own personal situation?” Shortly after that moment, I came across a social media post from a death doula.
🌸 A Shift Toward Meaningful Work
About six weeks after my mom died, I came across an article about a Death Doula. I was immediately intrigued. I’m typically not one for the “woo woo”, but my heart felt an instant pull to learn more. Everything the article talked about felt like it was describing the last two years of my life. I was able to find and connect with the Death Doula, Death Doula Kacie, and signed up for her Death Doula School. I completed my training in July of 2025 and have not looked back since.
Going back to the things I’m asked about when I say what I do, I’m often met with “that must be so sad”. In reality, I view what I do as a privilege. I’m going to share a secret with you – families that I get the honor of working with give ME a gift. They give me the gift of healing. My mom and I did not have the proverbial white picket fence relationship. There was a period of time that we didn’t speak. Yeah, that’s probably another blog post that will be dedicated to daughters who feel guilt over certain parental relationships. So, going back to the gift, these families help heal me. I feel like the Grinch – when his heart starts to grow and grow. I can only hope that they’ve felt some sense of closure, healing, or presence when we’ve parted ways.
The more I leaned into this discomfort, the more I found myself drawn to it – not in a morbid way, but in a deeply human way. I began to see how much people need space to talk about death without fear. They need time, compassion, planning, and someone to hold their hand when everything feels uncertain. This journey truly has been a privilege.
✨ What It Means to Me Now
Becoming a death doula is teaching me to change the way I live. It’s taught me to slow down, to prioritize connection, and to find beauty in the in-between moments. I’ve learned that being present at the end of life is a gift – one that allows us to say what needs to be said, to breathe together, to remember that love never leaves the room.
This work will give to families what I wish mine had. It allows me to serve from the heart and help others find peace during one of life’s most vulnerable transitions. It allows me to help others be better prepared, to have the conversations that they need to, and to hopefully allow families to be able to be present in the moment, knowing that I am supporting them behind the scenes.
🦋 Why I Do This Work
I chose to become a death doula because:
- No one should die in fear or confusion.
- Families deserve support, not the feeling of being overwhelmed.
- End-of-life can be sacred, not just sad.
- Love, dignity, and presence belong in every chapter – including the last.
“We plan for births with celebration. Why shouldn’t we approach death the same way – with intention, love, and peace?”