Sitting at Both Ends of Life

I have been sitting at both ends of life for a long time at the beginning, and now at the end. This work did not come from learning. It came from living.

People sometimes think I came into this work later…
like it’s something I decided to do after a course or a career shift.

But the truth is, my relationship with death started a long time ago.

I was only 23 when my daughter died.

There’s no real way to explain what that does to a person.
It changes how you see everything.
It changes how you move through the world.
It changes what matters.

And it doesn’t just go away.

Over the years, there have been more losses.
My brother.
My sister.
My father.

Each one different. Each one carrying its own kind of weight.
And woven through it all… there’s been grief, and there’s been what I now understand as generational trauma.

At the time, I didn’t have those words for it.
I was just living it.

Learning how to keep going.
Learning how to hold it together.
Learning how to be there for other people, even when I was hurting myself.

In my twenties, I found myself supporting young moms.

Some of those were my own sisters. I was right there with them, acting as their birth doula supporting them through labour, witnessing new life coming into the world.

I’ve probably been present at 20 or 30 births over the years.

Those moments… they stay with you.
They are raw and emotional and powerful in a way that’s hard to describe.

Looking back now, I can see something I didn’t fully understand then.

I’ve been sitting at both ends of life for a long time.

At the beginning…
and now, at the end.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something important.

Most people don’t know how to be in these spaces.
We’re not taught what to do.
We’re not taught what to say.
We’re not even taught that we don’t have to “do” anything at all.

We just need someone steady.
Someone who isn’t afraid to be there.

That’s what I’ve become.

Not because I read it in a book.
But because I’ve lived it.

I know what it feels like to sit in loss.
I know what it feels like when the room goes quiet in a way that changes everything.
I know what it feels like to keep going when you’re not sure how you will.

And I also know that it doesn’t have to be faced alone.

This work isn’t about having the right words.
It’s about being present.
It’s about making space for whatever is there.

If you’re walking through loss… or supporting someone who is…
I want you to know this:

You don’t have to figure it all out by yourself.

Reflection: This work did not come from a decision. It came from living through loss and learning how to stay. It comes from knowing what it feels like to be in those moments, and understanding how much it matters to have someone there who does not turn away.