Death Followed Me - So I Followed It Back
One year ago today, I left my job after 8 years, bringing my 25-year career in the music industry to an end.
I have worked in the music industry since I was a teenager. I wanted to be in medicine when I was young. I was going to be a doctor and help people. After witnessing several traumatic deaths and being in a community filled with grief from even more traumatic deaths, layered with more sudden deaths, I did what anyone in that situation would do: I turned to the theatre and music. A Stage Manager, Tour Manager, Merchandise Manager, Property Manager, Executive Assistant, Production Assistant, Sales Account Manager, Project Manager, IT Manager, Director of Operations, Director of Events, Scrum Master, Special Projects, and probably a dozen other titles I can’t remember.
I thought I could escape grief, and I could take a break from death by moving away from medicine. Funny, I know.
People still died. Family, friends, acquaintances. I was the person who got the call in the middle of the night. “What do I do?”
Death followed me. It isn’t personal; death follows everyone. It is a part of life. Natural death and sudden death are not treated equally. With sudden death, the usual ritual and ceremony that eases the process are taken away. Everything happens “out of order,” adding to the fear and uncertainty, often mixed with many questions during a time of intense mourning. Sometimes there is stigma around the way someone dies. It has taken me years to develop rituals that feel right for me to work through sudden death.
Not everyone sees it at a young age. There are people who make it to adulthood before seeing it. I can’t imagine how hard that must be. I saw death so young that I don’t remember life without it. Once it is witnessed, something changes forever, and that is scary. Fear challenges, shakes, and sometimes breaks reality. Disoriented, finding your bearings and your new reality takes time. We are generally not taught as a society what to expect when we meet death and have to learn for ourselves. Isolation is common, creating a divide between those grieving.
Three years ago, I began training and earning credentials to become a Death Doula, my soon-to-be full-time career. The people at my job were very supportive, knowing I would eventually leave.
The CEO would joke at parties. I would get bored making small talk, and he could probably see it on my face. He would tap the person on the shoulder and say, “She doesn’t want to hear about quarterly goals, but she will help you plan your funeral,” - or something to that effect, and then walk away. The person would either leave the conversation or completely drop their mask and spill their guts. Asking questions, emotionally sharing their recent experiences, and expressing relief that someone was willing to have a conversation about grief and death.
I kept being called back to sit with death. That may sound dramatic, but I stopped seeing it as something strange I needed to hide and began to see it as a gift. (talk about a weird hidden talent)
Then the day finally came, and I left with my newly founded practice and a handful of clients. I now spend my time on death education, working with the amazing volunteers at Alive Hospice, laughing and crying with mentees who are in a space I was once in, and enjoying every learning opportunity and making connections with my fellow cohort members.
I won’t lie. This is a big change to talk about death full-time instead of event details, and some days are hard. Some days, I can’t believe how lucky I am to be allowed and trusted to do this work. The encouragement and support from my friends and former co-workers have been incredible - above and beyond what I ever could have imagined when moving into a completely new space. I am where I am supposed to be, working alongside so many lovely people who also got the call to be here in the space between the living and the dead.
Thank you for being part of this transition. If you ever need a doula or want your funeral planned, you know where I am.
