Our Death is begging us to Live

  

We Are Not Promised Tomorrow

One of my core beliefs in life is this: we are not promised tomorrow. Another truth I hold closely is that we are all connected—that our paths are already laid out, and it’s our job to stay aligned, stay open, and keep walking.

The Lion King calls it the circle of life. A simple phrase, but a deep one. Birth, life, death, and rebirth—it’s a cycle we’re all part of, whether we accept it or not. Most people avoid talking about death. It makes them uncomfortable. But death, like change, is one of the only guarantees we have.

About 25 years ago, I did a course in palliative care. It felt meaningful in a way I can’t fully explain—if caring for the dying can be called “fulfilling.” Not everyone is built for this work. Some even looked at me sideways when I mentioned it. But I’ve never been afraid of those conversations. I believe they matter.

Which brings me to why I’m writing this today.

I’ve always felt I have a deeper purpose. And for years, the idea of becoming a death doula has quietly followed me. I’ve walked with people through their last days. I’ve supported their families afterward. Some of those moments were incredibly hard—too close to home—but I still showed up.

Because I believe this: I heal as I serve the dying.

For a long time, I set aside that dream. I was married to someone who made me believe I wasn’t capable of much. A narcissist who kept me small. But now, during this chapter of healing and reclaiming myself, those dreams, that calling—they’re coming back.

Today, as I was listening to a podcast with Mel Robbins and death doula Alua Arthur, something clicked again. Then, as if the universe was tapping me on the shoulder, I came across a woman in South Africa offering a course on becoming a death doula.

That’s no coincidence. That’s alignment. That’s the path. My path.

So—what is a death doula?

It’s the opposite of a birth doula. A death doula is a non-medical, deeply present companion for the dying and their loved ones. We don’t fix. We don’t cure. We hold space. We witness. We walk people home.

We don’t choose death work. Death work chooses us.

And I’m finally ready to answer that call.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe