I began researching end-of-life/death doulas online in 2016 when there was little in the cyberspace ether. INELDA was the first resource I found, and its offerings and ethos resonated with me—along with the fact that the founder was once a social worker like me (I spent 15 years in various health care settings, including hospice). So I made a trip back to the States within the year for my first training, where I gained clarity and a sense of the foundation for this role that spoke powerfully to my heart. In the months that followed, while getting to know neighbours and community members around the village and nearby towns, I shared my passion for the path I was embarking on, pondering how I could serve as an end-of-life doula and my wish to get conversations about end of life flowing. The response was always, “That is so needed,” usually leading folks to share a story about a time when they could have benefitted from such support. 

With shared enthusiasm from a well-loved local cafe, I facilitated a monthly Death Cafe for a year. To my astonishment, the first one drew a crowd of over 50 people—the next sign that my adoptive community was open to this. The years before and during the pandemic brought an abundance of connections, including locating other doula communities that were beginning to make themselves known. I completed additional courses linking with aspiring doulas in Ireland, then Mexico. I committed time to regular studying and introspection, eventually creating a simple website as a means to formally announce that I’d embodied the work I’d been dreaming of for years. Not long after, I supported neighbors who were the heart and soul of my learning—and unlearning—in terms of the social work role of  my past. 

Today I receive referrals by word of mouth, via my website, and courtesy a wonderful regional newspaper called West Cork People. When I wrote to the editor proposing a column written by an end-of-life doula, I was told it would be a valuable addition to the paper. I’m humbled today when someone tells me they read something I wrote, knowing this effort has brought me referrals as well. To date, I’ve written for 18 months about everything from what an end-of-life doula offers, to the benefits of talking about end of life and practical ways to do so, to stories of suicide loss and pet loss—both of which included my own experiences. 

Speaking of the media, another surprise has been the warmth and openness of the Irish media. Over the years, I’ve been contacted by and spoken to local and national radio stations, several newspapers, a television show, and local filmmakers (have I missed anything?!). I was unprepared for the generosity and welcome to the work in this way, but suppose I need not have been surprised, as a slogan for Ireland is “land of a thousand welcomes.” To be honest, my intention was to quietly doula in my community, yet each speaking experience was a lesson affirming the importance of being a voice for this work. Education and awareness of this movement is everything for doulas and the public alike as our death and end-of-life culture is being transformed.

Today I support individuals with life-limiting illnesses, along with family and caregivers (the latter often exclusively). Some I meet in person, and others are and have only ever been virtual connections—some I may never even “see,” depending on their preference. I’ve accompanied a couple of individuals too, each for about a year, until we reached a point where our process felt complete as opposed to a “death having occurred.” I have been blessed to be part of dozens of stories from many more who have connected with me from about 2020 to present. I’ve been especially moved by the openness and courage of people reaching out to me early in their journey—giving us time to get to know one another, dialogue, and plan. This was a vision I had that was different than my experience as a former hospice social worker, where introductions were time sensitive and often it was not long before a patient died. I get to walk with the bereaved at their own pace too, whether it be months to a year or more after the loss.

I’ve always been comfortable with listening and talking about anything. People—often strangers—share pieces of their inner world with me. I’m not sure where the call to death work comes from, but it never made sense to me that the eventuality of our demise and the everyday grief of being human is talked about so little, if ever. Growing up in upstate New York, I loved walking in cemeteries for as long as I can remember (the older the better!). My mother, whose own father was born in Ireland, read the obituaries daily—and frequently aloud, when they included someone she knew. I’ve mentioned this to several people here in West Cork, and the response is always, “Ah, yes, that’s very Irish.”