I Don’t Have All the Answers. But I Do Have Snacks and Tissues!

Let’s get these things out of the way:
- I am not a walking Hallmark card.
- I don’t have the magic words.
-I don’t have a laminated checklist of “how to grieve properly.”
- I don’t even have a universally flattering black outfit for funerals.

But what do I have?

Tissues. Snacks. A weird sense of humor sometimes.  And the ability to sit in the dark with you without flipping on the light and saying, “Chin up, buttercup!”

Being a death doula isn’t about having all the answers, it’s about being willing to ask the hard questions and then not running away when the silence that follows feels like it might swallow us whole.  It’s easy to ask someone “Hey, how are you really feeling today?”  The hard part is really listening to the answer.

I’ve sat beside people who were dying and didn’t know how to say goodbye.

I’ve listened to grieving adult children who apologized for crying too loudly, without making them feel shameful for snotty, ugly crying.

I’ve passed cookies to people who didn’t know they were hungry until the sugar hit their bloodstream and reminded them they were still alive.

Here’s the thing no one wants to admit: We can’t fix death. Also, we can’t solve grief. And yet both keep sticking their stupid hairy noses in our faces.  Death doulas, we still show up. Not with the perfect words. But with presence.

Not with answers. But with comfort.

Not with solutions. But with a soft place to land.

That might look like:

• Holding space while someone makes impossible medical decisions.

• Sitting quietly while the weight of loss settles into their bones.

• Handing over a granola bar because, no, you haven’t eaten today and yes, it does matter.
  

The world tells us to be strong, keep moving, stay productive.  “Don’t worry, you’ll get over it!”  Shudder. But grief? Death? They don’t care about your schedule, your diet, or even your livelihood.

So I slow things down. I bring the Kleenex and the crackers and the non-judgmental eye contact. I ask, “How can I support you right now?”and then I actually listen.  What?!  I know.

If you’re looking for someone who’s got it all figured out, that’s not me. But if you want someone who can walk beside you through the messy, holy, aching beauty of this part of life?

I’ve got snacks in my bag and a seat on the couch with your name on it.

Come as you are. No answers required.