It's All Related.
On deciding to become an End-of-Life Doula.
When I was pregnant, my husband and I interviewed a birth doula. She came to our house, discussed with us what she did. She was young. I’m not sure she had given birth herself. I’m not sure why that would have mattered to me then. We decided against hiring her and instead went the regular way of the hospital and the epidural and the C-section. In the end, we got our baby.
I would be lying if I said that I didn’t think about that doula again. I often think about what my hospital stay would have been like if she’d been there. During the start of my contractions after we checked in, I remember thinking that it was really happening: my body was doing the thing it needed to do. And just then, right in the thick of pain, in walked the anesthesiologist and asked if I wanted an epidural. I said yes. He sent my husband out of the room—-really, I’d been in there no longer than about a half hour at that point—and sat me up to lean over and insert the needle. Just then, as I was sitting instead of lying down, I realized I felt comfortable. But a split second later, there was a needle in my spine and stalling the procedure became an impossibility. I didn’t feel that much pain from then on and, hours later, I held my healthy baby girl safe in my arms. But I never forgot that moment of comfort while sitting up. What would my birth have been like if I’d had that doula in the room with me reminding me what my body was capable of? Helping me stay secure and grounded in the pain of the moment?
It’s not a regret; it’s more a curiosity.
If you know me at all, you know I’ve had many experiences with the deaths of loved ones. I think it’s what happens naturally as a person ages anyway—more of one’s close circle moves on out of this life and into the next. At age 14, I lost my father; At 29, my mother died. And in 2021, my step-father died. It’s only in the last few years that I’ve begun to make sense of these deaths through therapy and writing and reading and listening. But having been introduced to the world of death at such a young age, it’s never been very far from my mind. While many people may have found safety in fantasy worlds (movies, books, imagination) after so much death, I always drifted to reality. From an early age I started reading memoir, especially stories that concerned loss. I eschewed fantasy texts, believing that memoir and creative non-fiction would be the genre that would most help me feel less alone in my sadness. It hasn’t failed me. It’s what I write now.
I read, I watch, I listen to, I study texts of loss and grief. I always have. And lately, after writing my own book, after listening to Moth stories and podcasts, and watching documentaries, and reading poetry, I have recognized a need to get even closer to death and dying. And today, December 4, 2025, I registered for a course offered by the University of Vermont that will allow me to earn a certification as an End-of-Life Doula.
A couple of years ago, I sat in a cafe in Paris across a table from my advisor, Jonas Hassen-Khemiri. It was the first time we were meeting, and at that point, neither of us had any idea what I would produce under his guidance. He’d read an essay I’d written about my body and offered some feedback on it, and then gently asked me about my mother knowing it was a tender spot. I told him I wasn’t really sure about writing about my mom, that I was much happier writing about my body, about sexuality, maybe a little about the grief I’d experienced early in life. He listened, tilted his head, and said that the mom stuff, the body stuff, the sexuality stuff, the grief, “It’s all related.”
I think he was right. I don’t know what will happen next, but what I do know is that it feels very important to me to take this next step closer to working with, helping, witnessing those who are dying. It feels important to the 14 year old still inside of me and to all of the iterations of my self that followed. How would the experience of dying have been different for my parents if they had someone to witness and walk them through it? How would my experience of grieving them before they died have looked if a person had been there alongside me? I don’t know the alternatives, so I cannot regret the ways we parted from each other. But I wonder.
This program begins on February 9, 2026 and lasts 8 weeks. I am excited and nervous for the learning, but overall, ready. I hope that you’ll stick along for the writing I know I’ll do as I embark on this next step.