I wear a lot of hats in my work life. Three of them are braided together for maximum service. I am a non-medical caregiver/companion. I am a commissioned lay chaplain. I am a Death Doula.
During the course of my relationship with my clients, I learn their quirks, their wants, needs, and their humor. I get to witness their family dynamics working and sometimes dysfunctional. I see them at their most vulnerable. I bathe them, change soiled clothing, help them maintain mobility, and because of and despite the messiness of aging, I fall in love with them and their lives.
As a lay chaplain, I feel comfortable and confident speaking to them about difficult topics such as death, dying, and how they want/need things to go as the reason for hiring me becomes more intrusive on their physical and therefore spiritual journey. I help them articulate what’s most important to and in their lives. To me, it feels holy.
As a Death Doula, I work in tandem with hospice. I help the families and my clients to understand what is happening, what is likely to happen, and insure the end of life is as smooth and comfortable as possible. I sing to my people. I read to my people. I hold vigil and space in silence. This feels sacred to me.
When my person dies, my love does not. Although I make myself available, families often go the way of the winds after my purpose with their loved ones has been fulfilled. The anchor has been lost and they drift away into their new normal. It’s not my favorite part of what I do, but I understand that vulnerability is not comfortable and I’ve witnessed them being so.
This past week I’ve lost two people I loved, cherished, and cared for. I’m currently serving a third. It’s hard. It hurts. It’s living and loving grief in a complex respect and surrender. I don’t have all the answers but I’m good at what I do.
As an accused angel in a meat suit, I will continue to serve, adapt, grow, learn, and embrace my own inevitable death because that breathes life into my soul. This is my happiness and my calling. It is my honor to walk my people home.
Mare Martell 
That last line brought tears to my eyes, Mare. Most of us want to avoid the messy physicality and the spiritual uncertainties surrounding the death transition. You’re an inspiration.
Thank you. I’ve been struggling to see myself as others see me. Externally, I’m called an angel or love personified. Internally, I know how often I roll my eyes or mutter under my breath. I can be both things at the same time but that’s hard to hybrid my view of myself.
If the work were easy, more of us would do it. If you were pure angel 100% of the time, you wouldn’t be able to be here, cooperating with your lovely gestalt of biological cells, to provide physical presence and rubber-meets-the-road care for your people. You’re wise to understand that you “can be both things at the same time.” ❤️
I love you. Thank you. *Buddy Jesus thumbs up*
LOL! Thank YOU, Mare!