Why I Became a Death Doula: 1

Why I Became a Death Doula

Depending on the day, I may answer this question differently.  There are many reasons. Here is one of them. 

Reason 1: So You Don’t Have to Face Sudden Death Alone

I grew up in a community where death was not hidden.

We spoke about it openly—about loss, about plans, about what came next. Death was understood as a natural part of life, not something to be feared or avoided.

At birth, we are brought into rhythm with this world. At death, we fall out of rhythm. This is the natural progression of being human. Birth and death are the two experiences every person on this planet will share.

Some of my most meaningful memories come from conversations about death with friends, family, and community members. Those conversations were honest, connective, and often filled with unexpected humor. Over time, they shaped how I understood presence, care, and what truly matters. In comparison, small talk began to feel hollow.

Sudden death, however, is different.

It offers no preparation and leaves no room for closure. Too often, it is followed by silence and an unspoken pressure to move on, to avoid discomfort, or to pretend nothing has changed. In that silence, grief has nowhere to go, and that can kill you.

I had to find my own way through the grief created by sudden death. I did so alongside many others who were carrying their own losses, often without the language or support to speak about them. When grief goes unacknowledged, it doesn’t disappear.  I would argue that it deepens.

I found a small circle of close friends, and together we created our own rituals. We made space to remember, to speak names, acknowledge that loss changes us, and HAVE FUN together again.

Years later, a friend came to sit with me after experiencing a sudden personal loss. As they spoke, I recognized the familiar weight of shock and disbelief. For me, there was a moment of emotional intensity followed by a quiet calm.

The circumstances were painful, but the difference was this: they did not have to face it alone. In moments like these, I began to understand that my experiences, however difficult, could offer something meaningful to others - steady presence, understanding, and companionship through grief and a loss that may be stigmatized.

Decades after graduating, the impact of those early losses still echoes. A close friend from school recently shared that when she mentions where she grew up, the response is often an uncomfortable silence. When you grow up experiencing repeated loss at a young age, you think that it is normal. Until you realize it isn’t - and then you have to face that.  

My school does not hold reunions. Instead, there is an annual memorial walk—one I have not yet attended.

Grief does not end. It evolves.

The deeper I move into this work, the more I learn how to honor grief and sit with it rather than resist it. To slow down and allow space for remembrance without urgency or expectation.

I may attend that memorial one day.
Or I may not.

What I know, with certainty, is that no one should have to navigate sudden death alone.