Living in a "Death Space"

I choose to live my life in what I call a “death space.” As a death doula, I talk about death-a lot. That makes some people pause. I’m often aware that this moment, this conversation, this cup of coffee could be the last time I see YOU, whoever that “you” is in that moment. Almost daily, I wonder silently to myself, who in my life will be next. I don’t dwell here, and I don't obsess over it. Most of the time it’s a fleeting thought that leaves as quickly as it comes, but it’s there and makes its presence known. That presence makes me live with open eyes. I know that all things that have life will one day no longer exist. That doesn’t make me sad. Most of the time, it softens me and it changes how I move through the world by slowing down.

I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small part of me that isn’t scared of who it might be. If I had to assign it a number, I would say about 85% of the time I don't fear who it might be. And I work through the other 15% as it comes up. But fear isn’t the driving force here. Presence is. I am reminded that anything alive-people, animals, plants-are temporary. They WILL die. This is truth.

I acknowledge an ending without rushing through it. When I do that, something in me softens a little more each time. My grip on control loosens the tiniest bit. The attachments that aren’t mine to hold, they get put down and let go. I’m more clear and more aware about what matters and what doesn’t. What deserves my energy and what does not. I don’t allow myself to spiral. I pause and return to my breath.

One thing I have learned from being with the dying: not one person has told me they wished they spent more time at work. No one has ever said they wished they had said “I love you” or “I’m sorry” less. No one has regretted forgiveness. These are truths that live in my being now. This molds how I choose, how I forgive, how I love and how I show up.

I’ve always been a stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of person-but it was usually a quick, shallow moment. A sniff. Then. Yep. Still smells good. Then back to whatever task I was doing. Growing this relationship with death has changed that for me. I no longer stop and just smell them. I close my eyes and touch the petals. I feel how soft they are against my fingertips. I admire the deepest reds, purest whites and delicious pinks. I quiet my thoughts enough to listen to what is happening around me at that exact moment. Sometimes in that silence it feels like I am hearing holy ancestors whisper secrets to me. I even sip Tulsi Rose tea to let the floral taste linger on my lips.

Death work reminds me there is no need to look for beauty-it’s everywhere. The beauty is the moment itself.

I’ve heard people say after a life-altering experience, colors are brighter, or their vision is crisper. That’s how I feel EVERY SINGLE TIME I truly stop. I stand in awe of how incredible it is that I am right here, right now. And each time I’m humbled. Being close to death I study it, I witness it and I sit beside it-these are moments I will never take for granted. I laugh deeper. I love harder. I zoom out and I let shit go. I live more fully.

When I am with someone at the end of life, there is a felt sense of transition, and I am deeply aware of how present everything is. I struggle to find the words to explain or define what is happening or what I am experiencing. The shift feels as if the world has agreed to quiet itself at that moment. Even when there is sound, the space grows quieter. Time softens so much that I’m not even sure it exists. These moments hold themselves different. I move more slowly. I listen more carefully. I notice what feels real and let the rest fall away.

These feelings don’t leave me after a death. These are the moments that I carry when I leave. That sharper sense of life follows me into my ordinary daily moments. All of these little moments I experience make me see that beauty is closer to the surface than we know. Life is real. It’s textured. It’s vivid. Even messy. Life is immediate and it’s happening. RIGHT. NOW. Living with death in this way doesn't make life feel heavier. Living with death this way makes me feel more awake.

That’s what it’s like to death work.