Probably the single most important thing we can do to prepare for death is live the best life we can with the kindness and compassion for our co-earth dwellers that supports them in having the best life too.
To live in this way of compassionate co-existing contributes hugely to the calmness, comfort, grace and acceptance at the end of life as opposed to grasping at what might have been, regret, disappointment and sorrow.
Live life with a little bit of oomph.
Caring less what others think and more about what your heart thinks.
The kindness that we exude in life, not just to others but to ourselves too, directly impacts the quality of our experience as we near the end (through age or illness) and as we die.
If you haven’t already started this type of prep then start today.
Four years ago today I completed my training as an End of Life Doula with the University of Vermont Starner College of Medicine and it’s had me reflecting on how these past 4 years have unfurled, memorable moments, how I’ve been touched by this work and where I’m at now.
Completing training and setting up during the first lockdown.
May 2020 The Holistic End of Life Doula (The HELD) is birthed.
Working on the bank of staff as a nursing auxiliary at my local hospices (both adult and children’s) during this very, very challenging time.
Weaving all of my skills into my doula role.
Meeting with family members to discuss, at their request, VSED (voluntary stop eating and drinking – which probably wouldn’t even need to be a thing if medical aid in dying was legal).
Seeing the dire need for decent, specialised care in the community at the end of life and stepping into that role to extend my services as a palliative and end of life PA so that people can have their wish to die at home fulfilled.
Navigating and learning of the various deficiencies and disjointedness within our current healthcare and care system,
Helping people complete their Advance Decisions, Advance Care Plans and Lasting Power of Attorney’s whilst they are still well AND in times of ill health.
Holding public workshops on how to “be” with and support people at the end of life.
Being present for lots of tears, laughter, anger, overwhelm, grief and love and everything in between.
I have visited funeral directors and green burial grounds.
Made my own burial shroud with advice from a funeral directors that I respect followed by the approval of The Natural Death Centre UK for listing my shrouds for others to purchase.
Served as a companion animal end of life doula.
I’ve witnessed my own triggers and weaknesses.
Reconfigured my own boundaries.
Have learnt that my own self care isn’t indulgence but vital to how I show up for others. For you.
Noticing that, within the end of life and, specifically, hospice and funeral services, there continues to be a lot of gatekeeping.
Where some are excited and welcoming to the presence of a doula and others feel threatened.
And that says so much more about their own insecurities than it does about us doulas.
St Christopher’s Hospice in London. worldwide trailblazers in palliative and end of life care recently advertised a salaried role for an End of Life Doula. It’s progressive and wonderful and I look forward to other hospices following their lead in the not-too-distant future.
Working on my latest project – Bringing Death To Life.
Walking alongside people who lean into it all and openly talk about death and dying to those at the other end of the scale who choose not to talk about such matters even in the process of dying.
Meeting people where they need to be and that might be different for each member of the family.
Listening.
Listening.
Listening.
Leaning in.
Witnessing breaths.
Witnessing life.
Witnessing death.
Witnessing sorrow.
Witnessing people fall apart and witnessing them picking up the pieces to carry on.
Witnessing such resilience.
Witnessing the uniqueness of each and every one.
Witnessing myself in highly charged environments, in profound moments, in the beauty and ugliness of it all and how I emerge knowing that I am still a student of it all.
How I emerge a slightly different person than I was before that encounter.
That death is the biggest teacher and holds the most wisdom.
Because we can never know all there is about life, death and everything that fills the space in between.
That, when I am “walking you home” I’m not necessarily talking about death being your final home or walking alongside you as you die even though that is exactly what it appears to be on the surface..
Or as you shift from the physical form that we know and love to universal matter that is more felt than seen.
The act of dying brings us home to our self like nothing I have ever witnessed before.
As death comes closer, the profoundness of life, the sanctity, the true essence of what is and is not important explodes and implodes into our awareness.
It invites us to unravel.
It invites us to shed layers of programming and conditioning.
To be curious.
Some resist it.
Some ride with it.
I am walking you home to your self.
The stripped back you.
The you that longs to be seen, heard, acknowledged, understood and loved.
The you that longs to forgive and be forgiven.
The you that wishes to find comfort with neither forgiving or being forgiven.
The you that longs to say the stuff that you’ve never got around to saying.
The you that seeks comfort when the opportunity to say these things to the important people in your life does not arise in the way you wished.
The you that wants to shout about the unfairness of it all and the you that is accepting and gracious of the life you have lived.
I walk alongside all of the emotions that arise and with the honesty that you seek.
I am walking you home to loving your self like you’ve never done before.
And those parts of you or your life that you can’t love?
Well, I am walking you home to acknowledging that and finding a way of being ok with not loving those parts.
Holding those parts of you with the tenderness you deserve.
Because when all the crap of life is set aside, cast away what is left is just the purest, unadulterated and complete you.
We don’t die perfect.
We die whole.
I will forever be deeply grateful for this training.
Not just for how it supports me in serving others as a doula but also for the richness it brings to my own life.
Getting intimate with dying and death, far from being morbid, defeatist, joy-depleting or whatever you might believe, is utterly life affirming, profound, enriching and heart-expansive.
I’ve come a long way since my first dive into end of life care in the early 1990’s. Both Quidenham Children’s Hospice and Rachel House in Scotland are intricately woven into the tapestry of my heart and soul.
And that, my friends, is a synopsis of my doula-ship so far.
It is ever evolving.
As am I.
What a gift it is to hold such open curiosity to the true mystery of it all and to be reminded how to live a life of richness, depth and meaning.
Thank you for being part of my continuing journey.
I am so grateful you are here and sharing it with me.
Some people glide into the next year without any thought for the date and others celebrate with wild abandon.
And, of course, there is everything in-between.
There may be no miracles that happen as the calendar year turns from 2023 to 2024 – you are still you and your life doesn’t suddenly change, however, there is a subtle mental shift.
As we drift over the seconds of midnight whether you are awake or asleep, conscious of it or not, you will have one final 2023 out-breath and take your first in-breath of 2024.
New resolutions or intentions aren’t necessary, and yet, ceremony and ritual can bring resolution, comfort and hope for this shift in time.
And certainly, with the work that I do and the way it touches me bringing a little ritual to the evening is a beautiful way to honour that.
Since ancient times, the use of flame has been an important feature of many spiritual ceremonies whether of religious origin or not.
However, we don’t need to have any spiritual or religious leaning to feel the comfort of a candle lighting ceremony.
It’s amazing how candlelight can transform a space. How it can offer up space for reflection with it’s comforting glow.
If you wish, take time to honour those who will not be arriving into 2024 with a candle lighting ritual.
You may wish, on the approach to midnight, to light a candle and spend a moment in time with a memory of those you said goodbye to.
Or light your candle to honour yourself and all that you have endured.
Hold space for grief and suffering – yours and others.
For all the losses that you have experienced or that have touched you.
And also honour those special times.
The times that lit you up.
The times of personal joy.
And of collective joy.
Be present with whatever comes up for you.
If someone you loved dearly has died this year please know there is no pressure or expectation to wish away all that 2023 held for it is likely to hold some very special memories amongst the painful ones.
Let us live where we need to be, and hold on to those memories that help us through difficult time.
Reflections of time as this year comes to a close and the new one nears.
Our human mind has long grappled with the idea of time.
With clocks and calendars, schedules and the keeping of time.
And, of course often dismissing time as a human construct.
Does time even exist at all?
Time, in some form, shows itself in nature regardless of whether we connect with the idea of time or not.
Times of daylight and moonlight.
The waxing and waning of the moons bringing a regularity of full moons.
The changing of the seasons.
The rings within the trunk of a tree denoting it’s age.
Our circadian rhythms.
The different layers laid down through history upon the earth each revealing of life in that era.
A snapshot of that time.
We think of time as perpetual.
Or infinite.
And our existence is just a moment in time.
A miniscule blip in the ethereal space of the universe.
This life, my life, your life, is this space, between birth and death.
That is our time.
Made up of many, many moments.
When time has passed we cannot get it back yet, sometimes, we try to make up for lost time.
Time is given and it can be taken away.
It is thought that money can’t buy time but living in poverty can shorten our time on this earth.
Time can seem to go fast or slow.
Sometimes it can feel as if time is standing still.
We can “kill” time but we can’t create time.
When we choose to spend our time with another we are offering them moments of our life. Sharing in each other’s moments. What a precious gift this time, our moments are to each other.
When we are forced to spend time with another or doing something not of our choosing is this then a theft of our moments?
For we didn’t give them willingly and we cannot get them back.
Some say we should be present with those moments too but in times of grave depravity our survival instincts may take us elsewhere – to a different time.
Some of our moments in time are etched into our memory and yet others seem lost.
When death is nearing time takes on a different meaning.
We suddenly have a very different relationship with it.
We find there is more time behind us than in front of us.
That we have taken “time” for granted.
Some pray for time.
Time to spend with their loved ones.
Time to say many I love you’s.
Time to make amends.
Time to laugh.
Time for more living.
Some pray that their time is short.
Not necessarily because they don’t love life or the people in their lives.
But because they wish their suffering to end.
Or they simply feel their life is complete and fulfilled.
Some are confused with time.
When death doesn’t happen when “expected”.
I have heard before “why am I not dead yet?
Or, “Why am I still alive?”
And sometimes “why is it taking so long?”
Some may say “How did I get to this moment so soon?”
Some try to “cheat” time by opting for medical interventions with the appeal that it may offer more time and yet, may ultimately affect the quality of their time.
Of their moments.
Time.
It comes.
It goes.
It does not wait for us.
It carries on regardless.
There is nothing more grounding of our moments in time than our closeness to the end of “our” time.
Until our own death separates us from time.
And yet, even then, our essence remains a part of time for as long as we are remembered by another.
Stored as a memory in time.
And remember, whilst many are yearning for this turning of the year into the next, of putting the time of 2023 behind them, others may feel it is taking them further away, in time, from their loved one whose time in their physical form came to an end this year or in recent years.
Twas THE Night. Written Christmas Eve last year. Well, perhaps not the poem you expect to read on Christmas eve but, as it is based loosely on The Night Before Christmas, I thought to share it. It’s the story of a gentle welcoming of end of life in the presence of a doula.
Twas the night before death, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse My heart it was heavy, this sad night of the year I hoped that the doula soon would be here;
My beloved was nestled all snug in his bed, While visions of ancestors danced in his head; With me in my grief, holding a hand in his lap My love settling down for a long final nap,
When out on the path came footsteps heard before, I crept swift from the bedroom and unlatched the door Not wanting to leave my beloved for long I feared when I got back I would find he was gone.
The moon barely visible behind the clouds of my heart Was aware of the soul that was about to depart, Then, what to my woeful eyes should appear, Twas the end of life doula, and her heart so dear,
Our doula spent a few moments sensing all that was here The anxiety, the love, the grief, the fear Then she took my hands and invited a pause Then said “Let’s be still, let’s be still, witness these moments with awe”
With a hug, a kind word, so soft and so pure, I knew in a moment we were held safe, reassured. More rapid than eagles when I phoned she came, And she greeted, with love, my beloved by name;
Within this familial space – I felt so blessed As together we prepared the sacred death nest, Candles, a poem, his favourite music we played We plumped up his pillow for his head to lay
I shared memories, told stories, sang songs that he knew Provided moments of silence for him to explore new realms too My doula she noticed my face it was frowning She uttered words of support to ease me from drowning.
She kept me supplied with refreshments as needed She checked my beloved’s wishes were heeded My doula stepped in when I needed to sleep A presence at bedside, a sacred vigil to keep.
In each precious moment I watched my beloved’s chest rise As the light slowly dimmed in his tired brown eyes His breathing now shallow, the timing slow. Gave an intensity, a lustre for my focus to grow
As his body shut down my loves throat started to crackle The doula she said it’s sometimes called the death rattle. Blotchy mottling had appeared on my beloved’s skin I can’t help but wonder of the bodily processes within
My love – his hair laid ruffled, his eyes partially closed, His cheeks deeply sunken each side of his nose His mouth showed wrinkles where once there were smiles His jaw hung loose as if asleep, my heart in denial
As his physical life faded, his spiritual energy grew This subtle glow it encompassed him soft and true We welcomed it warmly, we knew he was frail He was almost ready, to step through the veil.
When with a movement of his head in spite of his health, He turned to look at me wisely, shared a moment of himself With a twinkle in his eye and a nod of his head He gave me to know he had nothing to dread
He spoke not a word, but closed his eyes, And the room filled with awe that we just can’t describe, And laying my face close to his where he lay He gave a last sigh, and went on his way;
We stayed there bearing witness, nothing to do or say Holding each moment tenderly ’til the new day And as the sun began to rise on the fresh new morn I knew a different me had just been born.
The touch of his hand, his skin cooler now I stroked him tenderly across his brow. In accordance with my beloved’s last wish He stated clearly, he wanted one final kiss.
Then his spirit it rose, making ready to pass through, He lingered for a while, then, away he flew But I heard him whisper, ere he drifted out of sight, I love you deeply, and I wish you goodnight.
Grief doesn’t take a break over Christmas and even if it has been years since our loved person died it is often a time that brings to the fore how much they are missed and loved.
A few days ago I shared about welcoming grief with the celebrations and to the table. If you are missing someone this festive season (or at any significant life celebration for that matter) and wish to bring them a little closer to your heart here are a couple of things you can do. Things that bring them right there with you.
First suggestion – Write a Christmas/Solstice/New Year card to them. It doesn’t have to be for a human. It could be for a companion animal too. In the card write them a message. The message can be as long or short as you wish – simply say what you’ve been wanting to say since they’ve not been physically with you in this life. Write all the things you wished you had said and all the things you’ve been wanting to tell them since their death. Share any news with them. Recall special memories. Tell them how much you love them. Or, just write something simple such as “I love and miss you” When you’ve finished, either put it up on display with all your other cards or, perhaps, on your bedside table or pop it in an envelope and keep it somewhere safe to read whenever you want to feel closer to them.
Second suggestion – Pour two drinks, make two cups of tea or coffee, get 2 plates and pop a mince on each. Now, set this at the table across from each other or, perhaps, on the coffee table in front of the sofa side by side or by their favourite chair opposite yours. Now, picture them with you. Sharing the break in your day. And go through that same process as with the card. But speak it aloud. Share your news with them. Talk about special memories. Tell them how much you love them. And miss them. All the while drinking your cuppa or sipping your glass of wine and nibbling on your mince pie. Talk to them as if they were right there sharing this moment. Whisper a Merry Christmas to them.
These two heart and soul-filled actions are little gifts of connection to that someone, a continuing bond. You don’t need to do both. But you can! Or pick one that best resonates with you. It can make you feel just that little bit closer to them. Especially at a time when they may feel so far away or so long gone.
Part of my role as an End of Life Doula is vigil sitting.
But what exactly is vigil sitting or holding vigil and how might I support you with that?
Vigil Sitting is being present and holding sacred space for a person who is in the active phase of dying and for a short time after death. The active process of dying can last anything between 7 days and a few hours.
Perhaps, I will have got to know you a little first and maybe we have drawn up a plan of how you would best like to be supported through this process? Regardless whether we have met or a plan is in place what matters most during this process is you – your comfort, your dignity, your wishes, your peace of mind and heart as you transition.
I might be called to be the vigil sitter or I might be called upon to support loved ones as they sit vigil.
I serve to empower you and your loved ones so my part in vigil sitting might simply be to support with practical tasks, supplying your loved ones with cups of tea and nourishment of food and tlc, or be on hand to allow loved ones to take much needed breaks.
It might also be a time when loved ones require reassurance and emotional support.
Vigil sitting is a most beautiful and sacred time – a time for love, of tenderness, peace and soothing the soul.
And it doesn’t end with the last breath.
Vigil sitting might continue into the hours and days following death and include the continuing care of your body whilst ensuring a respectful and peaceful space is held.
Do you know it is believed that the energy (some might call it the soul or spirit) of the body can take anywhere from a few hours to 36 hours to leave the physical body after death has occurred?
Vigil sitting post-death will most likely involve me supporting your loved ones in whatever way they feel they need at the time. That might be to ensure they have quiet time or to ensure there is opportunity for them to chat.
How would you like to experience your last days and hours?
What do you envisage?
Where would you like to be – given the choice?
What concerns you most?
Now you’ve reflected on these questions write down your thoughts and let your nearest and dearest know.
Those of you who have followed or participated in my teachings of meditation will know that I encourage you to explore different forms of meditation (it’s not about sitting cross-legged on a mat, laying down or emptying your mind), different styles, methods and teachings.
It is not a one-size-fits-all.
And let me tell you here that the aim of meditation is not enlightenment.
Or transcending anything.
It’s about presence.
Your practice will evolve and grow, ebb and flow, shift and change.
And when it comes to meditation in times of deep grief everything you think you know about your meditation practice flies out the window.
Because grief is not just a physical set of symptoms but is energetic too.
And it lands differently.
As it did with me some years ago.
No matter how much I thought I knew and understood about my mediation practice, when I was grieving deeply meditation became incredibly difficult.
Whatever form of meditation practice I was doing all I could do was cry.
Whether I was still or moving, whether my space was quiet or filled with sound every time my practice began I would just cry.
Actually, crying doesn’t quite cover it.
I sobbed.
Consumed by my grief.
And I became frustrated.
Defeated even.
And then I realised –
my tears, my crying, my sobbing was meditation.
And in that moment I was able to let go of what I thought meditation should look or feel like and be present with myself in a very different way.
What a powerful, profound and transformative insight that was for me.
So, if you find your meditation practice faltering or impossible during times of grief give yourself some slack.
And allow whatever it is that you are feeling to flow.
It’s not about emptying the mind, being quiet or still but feeling into your soul.
It’s not about a moving meditation practice that feels freeing and expressive but the ability to hold your body with love as it curls into a tight ball, throws fists at the floor and wails.
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HELD 