Journal of a Death Doula - January 2025

Donna

January 26, 2025

Sarah and Debbie are stepsisters.  They share beautiful love and admiration for their mother, Donna.  Donna is the birth mother of Debbie and the stepmother of Sarah.  Donna was diagnosed with COPD and was recently admitted to hospice, where she has the support to die at her home with her dog and cats sitting vigil, something that was tremendously important to her.

I first learned about Donna through Hospice. I initially called Debbie, and while she was kind, she seemed uncertain about the role of a death doula. She mentioned wanting to consult her stepsister and mother before proceeding. I waited 48 hours before hearing back.

When I heard back, it was from Sarah, Donna’s stepdaughter. “Hi Carey, I heard from my stepsister that you are an end-of-life doula. We’ve discussed it, and we would love to have your support as mom goes through hospice.” I was in Boston grieving the loss of a dear friend when Donna called.

“I’m in Boston,” I told her. “I will be back Sunday night and can visit with you and your stepmother then.”  Sarah was hesitant because, in the last 24 hours, Donna was unresponsive and actively dying.  We agreed to connect on Monday when I was back, and Sarah would have an update on Donna.

We arranged for me to visit Donna and the sisters on Tuesday night after the hospice nurse had been by.  I arrived at about 5:30 PM and found two highly compassionate, organized, and concerned daughters, sitting in a cave of paperwork and medical equipment, lights down low, and speaking in hushed tones.

“Mom has not eaten or had anything to drink for eight days,” Debbie said, her face reflecting concern and curiosity.

“That’s a very long time to go without food or drink,” I said.  Not a medical practitioner, I am careful not to dole out any words that could be construed as medical advice.  The daughters agreed, nodded, and went through a chronology of Donna’s past several days only to confirm that it was 8 days.  Questions were bouncing around in my head like a pinball machine, but seated with the sisters, I inched to the edge of my chair and started with gentle inquiry.

“Can you think of anything, ANYTHING unresolved in your mother’s life?  Are there any loose ends that may be worrying her?”  After several quiet seconds, the sisters answered simultaneously, but at odds. 

It turns out, there is a third sister, Susan, with whom Donna has a tumultuous relationship. They had been at odds for years. The narrative Debbie and Sarah provided painted a picture of Susan as a troubled teen who brought heartache, pain, and near financial ruin to their family, though Sarah was quick to point out that was ages ago, and that Susan had turned her life around and was nothing like the troubled teen she’d been 15 years ago.  Susan now lives in North Carolina.

“Is it possible your mother wants to see her?” I asked.  “Are there perhaps things Donna would like to say to Susan, or things Susan may want to say to your mother?  Something is keeping your mother here, and we need to help her get through this so she can transition with peace in her heart.” 

It was hours later, and we were still sitting together talking about Donna and how she was holding on to this life instead of transitioning peacefully.  Then one of the daughters recounted an odd experience she witnessed with her mother just days before.

“I walked into Mom’s room, and she was on the floor, naked. She was speaking to someone and then looked at me and said, “He is telling me I’m not good enough to have clothes.” I thought, WHOA. 

“Was your mother a victim of abuse?” The question came out of nowhere, spewing from my mouth without forethought.

“Yes,” her daughters answered in unison. “She was abused as a child.”

“Is the abuser still alive?” I asked.

“No.  He died years ago.”

“OK,” I said.  “Who from your mother’s life has died with whom she had a loving relationship?  We need to speak to your mother about the wonderful people in her life who have died and explain to her that they are there waiting for her.  She needs to see the joy. If she sees only the fear, it will hold her back.”  The sisters named two special people from their mother’s life who had loved her deeply.  One was Donna’s mother, and one was a dear friend who protected Donna from the abuser.

“You’ve given us a lot to think about,” Sarah said looking up at the ceiling, weighty tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.  “Would you like to meet our mother now?”

The sisters led me into their mother’s room.  It was dark, quiet and cluttered with medical equipment and supplies.  Donna lay in her bed, eyes closed.  Her head was elevated, and her arms rested gently at her sides.  Donna’s dog lay as a sentry on the foot of her bed. Her mouth was open, and she was breathing sporadically. I approached her bedside. “Hello, Donna.  My name is Carey, and it’s my honor to meet you.  Your daughters have told me so much about you.”  I leaned over and kissed Donna’s forehead.  She was warm.  Her skin was beautiful. She looked like an angel.  I teared up, and rubbed Donna’s arms gently, telling her she was surrounded with love.

I left Donna’s home that night at 9:30. I had been visiting for hours, and we had discussed many things, trying to unlock the secret to a peaceful transition without fear or regret. Exhausted and curious, the sisters promised to speak to their mother of happy memories, of her loved ones that had passed – the kind souls waiting for her on the other side.

The next morning, I received a text from Sarah.  These are the exact words she sent me,

“We contacted our sister Susan this morning. Mom just got off the phone with her. Susan told Mom how much she loved her and appreciated all she had done for her. She also asked Mom to take care of Billy, a son Susan lost as a baby. It was heartbreaking. Within seconds of hanging up the phone for Mom, she breathed her last breath.”

I smiled. What an honor to be in the presence of the dying and their circle of care, as sacred space is created for a peaceful death.

(All names have been changed to protect privacy.)

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