Death Care Is Community Care

I want my death to be a teacher for you, for my family, friends, community, and especially the younger generations who have been born into a death phobic world, but may not have to die in one.

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Hello, dear one.  Have you thought much about your own death?  Or the death of beings you care about?  I think about it a lot, and I enjoy discussing it.  I love to read about death, ritual and grieving.  When I spend time pondering death, and specifically my own, I know better how to live.  I know better how to be present in the here and now.  I want my death to be a teacher for you, for my family, friends, community, and especially the younger generations who have been born into a death phobic world, but may not have to die in one.  So much has been lost in the medicalization of death, but we still have time to re-learn the old ways of being.

Just as I want my death to be a teacher, so too do I want my life to be a teacher.  And I want your death and your life to be a teacher for me and all those around you.  I see value in a living grief practice.  Not just when someone dies, but daily for all the grief inside and around me.  Through the practice of grieving, I see the beauty, the gifts, and all the blessings as I honor the sadness, anger, and confusion.  Living with, through, and along side of grief is living with, through, and along side of celebration. 

I have been blessed to be with several, beloved community members through their deaths and to live along side of them and learn from them in life.  Being with them in their final days, I continue to learn and be with them through my own continued practice of living.  These lives and these deaths continue to offer profound teachings.

I have watched family members be placed into the ground, carried the weight of a casket while grief filled the air, and laugh-cried as we remembered them in a house with covered mirrors and way too much food.  I can still see my grandfather, sitting on a cardboard box, wearing ripped clothing as he mourned the sudden death of his wife, my grandmother.  I have sat awkwardly with my family as we tried to figure out how we were "supposed" to be in these moments.  None of us knowing, all of us unsure.

I have sat in a school room with other teenagers as we learned that a fellow classmate and friend died by suicide.  Imagining their family finding them, and thinking of my own parents, the pain of being alive that I myself carried felt somehow less deadly.  Talking to folks who were closer, more intimate friends with them than I was, offered me the opportunity to doula well before I even knew how care for myself.

I have been with pets through living and dying, some whom I consider soul mates.  I have made agonizing and heartbreaking decisions of how to care for and honor them.  Sometimes choosing to hasten their death, and end what I perceived to be suffering, by means of euthanasia.  I have laid their bodies to rest in the earth with intimacy and care as tears wet the ground and sobs filled the air.  The kind of burials and ceremony I would like to see more often for our human kin.  The kind of ceremony I would like you to give me, and to help offer to you, if that is what you want.

I have had the sincere honor to support the families of people who's loved ones have died or gone missing during migration through the sonoran desert, along what is considered to be the u.s./mexico borderlands.  I have searched for the missing and dead in those borderlands, and in doing so, searched for answers that were sometimes found, and more often remain unanswered.  The people themselves; sometimes found, but more often remaining unfound.  Beloved parents, children, siblings, friends become part of the desert landscape as their bodies and bones are embraced by the earth where they took their final breath.

I  have seen many different kinds of death, and each one has been a teacher for me.  The death of living beings, known and unknown.  The death of relationships, the death of land and water, the death of self through different phases of life and re-birth, the death that exists through significant life transitions, my own and others.  Just as I have seen all this death, I have seen equally as much life.  Death, after all, is one part of a full life.  It is not separate, just as birth is not separate from life and living.
My community has helped me to see that I am, and have always been a doula of many things.
Doula's help to navigate the space between, as well as the space before and after.  We offer a stable presence within the delicate container of transitional space.  Serving as a death doula ties into the greater picture of my purpose to guide and support others along their healing journey, as I navigate my own with support and guidance.  This is mutual aid.  This is community care.

The path of ever becoming is slow and winding, and the scenery varied.  My journey is one of many side-trails and mysterious passages.  It is one of plain clothed teachers and street prophets.  In December of 2020, I helped Lois, a dear friend and elder community member, die.  Though I had been with death before, this particular event was an initiation of sorts.  Lois's death, and the way she asked me to show up for her, and the way I was able to honor her in those final days, up to and after her final breath, guided me to see my gifts more clearly.  I honor her life and death by practicing every day to live humbly into these gifts.  

Though I had been serving unofficially as a death doula for many years, Lois's death in particular and the community that surrounded me after, is what inspired me to sign up for the death doula training with Alua Arthur and the Going With Grace team.  Alua and the team, based mostly in California, had been offering trainings through the internet for several years prior to this, but this was to be their first in-person training.  Going With Grace was offering an in-person training in Arizona, just a couple of hours away from where I was living, even though none of the team members lived there.  How could I not step fully into this opportunity?

I feel that I was guided by Lois, along with our other living community members through an invisible door.  A door that I had looked through many times, a door left open so the air on the other side could brush my skin and gently enter my being.  But until then, I did not know that I was worthy of crossing the threshold.  You continue to remind me of who I am, and that my presence is important and wanted.  You continue to hold me as I stroll along this winding, mysterious journey of life and death, grief and celebration.  Each one of you continues to remind me that I am worthy of crossing the threshold, over and over again.  For this, and for everything else, I thank you.
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