Becoming an End of Life Doula
Exploring our relationship with grief, loss, community and collective healing around end of life transitions
I believe that this calling has always been inside of me, and as I’ve spent a lot more time with elders over recent years, I know that this path has only just begun.
I was always super connected to my paternal grandmother, nanny Maud. She raised my pops and his brother with my grandad Bill, but hadn’t had any daughters. And I believe it was this special feminine connection that gave us a beautiful closeness and tenderness that I can still feel inside of me when I think of her today.
We enjoyed our sweet, girly moments and laughs together as I grew up – even though for the most part I didn’t consider myself ‘girly’ and preferred hanging out on my own in the garden with the tadpoles in the pond or zooming in on the dead bees and insects I found with my microscope kit. We shared stories of when I’d go away to brownie camp, attempt to socialise (I say attempt, as I realise now that that was never my strong suit as a highly sensitive person who doesn’t know they’re a highly sensitive person), meet boys, go to uni and moved to Italy for a while.
She always loved hearing about what I got up to, darting about in a world she was no longer connected to in the same way, and I didn’t leave out any details in our chats either (I can hear her laugh now). Even after many years since her passing, I’m sitting here crying as I type – the relationship lives on and drives me forward with this calling to support our elders and families moving through challenging times with their loved ones.
With our strong connection and deep love, we felt comfortable to have conversations about life and death and she assured me she would always look out for me after she’d gone. When I was in my teens, before I left for uni, I remember speaking to her about her own death and how to prepare for her end of life transition in a way that would make her happy.
So, one day we sat down and wrote what I then called a ‘Death Warrant’ (young me) and outlined; the music she wanted; where she wanted to be cremated; have her ashes scattered; and also we left directions for my pops to keep her flat for a week to sort through everything, where I found her cute little box containing all of the letters, notes and post-its I’d ever written her, marked ‘Treasured Letters From My Darling Victoria’. We both signed the bottom of it, to make it ‘legal’ in our minds, and I felt an innate duty to honour what she had expressed to me that day, including who she did and didn’t want at her funeral.
Alongside being very close with my nanny, I had grown up visiting my kind grandad Bill (who had dementia) in hospice and later also my lovely, funny maternal grandad Ted (many knew this man was always up for a dance). We were a very close family (still are, although circumstances change) where relationships, kindness and effort mattered, and this environment of being around the elderly felt natural, and on some occasions, very calming to me.
In terms of learning about death, my first recollection of experiencing loss was when we said goodbye to my grandad Bill and also to our beautiful dogs who we shared a nature-filled childhood with, Max and Wally. These transitions allowed for me to understand that nothing lasts forever and that there is always something bigger at play, but it wasn’t until my nanny got ill and moved on, that I experienced the full weight of when someone leaves us.
In 2007, we found out that she wasn’t too well and was moved to spend time in hospital – something I now question as to whether or not she wanted, instead of being in her own bed (we missed this out of my youthful, naive attempt at a care directive). Nonetheless, as a curious person I tend to observe quite a lot from a distance, and I saw myself watch and study her as she lay on the bed during those final days. I saw how the human body processes and softens at that ultimate stage of our life, how her mind slowly misplaced memory of me in its fullness, yet it still allowed for hugs and closeness when she needed. In our last intimate moments together, I watched and heard how her final breath left her small frame, her lungs hollowed and then she gently, without a sound, departed for greener pastures.
And I was forever changed. This woman who had been so affectionate, sweet and supportive to me was no longer in the physical realm, but little did I know back then that I would be connected to her until I also leave this planet. According to various texts and cultures, some say that our soul remains in the physical world for a short period of time after death and I wondered if this might explain how I still felt so connected to her – she would visit me most nights in my dreams during those first days and I’d wake up already in tears. Alas, these are the mysteries of the universe and I understand there are many things that remain unexplained and I’m OK with not knowing.
With this in mind, when we begin working towards becoming an End of Life Doula, it can be an emotional trigger for us and calls into question many things, including how we talk about and confront death and also how we might like to prepare for our own transition when the time should arrive. After starting my studies, I recall not being able to focus and ran straight up to the healing space in our garden, where I saved the letters my nanny collected and I just burst into tears, needing to read them all at once.
Still, I resonated with this work so much, it felt like only a matter of time before I found my footing in this world again. What’s more, having just returned from a month in Jamaica (where I was also called to meet another End of Life Doula) and, as I’ve mentioned before, one of the reasons why I connect with Africa so much, is that there are ceremonies and rituals to honour and bring joy to each significant life transition, as part of community tradition, respect and wellness. In Jamaica, you can hear the sound system ‘pon de road’ before you even see a funeral procession or a hearse. And here I witnessed and saw how death is also an opportunity to celebrate life, as well processing deep emotions of grief, loss and sadness over time.
In these cultures, death is not hidden or taboo, people aren't scared of ageing or worried to the bone about grey hairs, wrinkles and trying to keep time on their side. There is acceptance, discussion, peace and a beautiful remembrance of divinity and Spirit at play as we gain years on this earth.
All in all, I trust that my big heart and these learnings will provide a safe container for anyone I serve to feel supported through challenging life transitions and to work through the motions of coming to terms with mortality and the loss of beloved lives. You can read more about how I might be able to support you and your family as an End of Life Doula here.
On another note, I’ll be starting an online ‘Death Cafe’ of sorts called Death Speak for those called to come together to share and explore all facets of these difficult transitions - details here Eventbrite.
‘Death is only the beginning…’ - Sir William Gull
Other resources:
Marie Curie Article
End of Life Doula UK - I didn’t train here, but for those of you looking to find out more in the UK
