My name is Shaunagh... I am a Death Doula

I was raised by my grandparents from a very young age, in a beautiful loving home. When I was 28, my grandfather was admitted to the hospital with heart and breathing issues. I was by his side every day during the month he was there, cherishing each moment and story. He was 84 years old.

Due to short staffing, I became his aid, navigating the overwhelming emotions and fears surrounding what lay ahead. If I hadn't been present, he would have spent most of his days alone.

As I noticed changes in his health, I did my best to provide comfort and understand the reality of the situation. However, without adequate staffing and personal education, I often found myself without answers. Why was he no longer eating or drinking? Why was he sleeping so much? Why didn’t he get up to use the bathroom anymore?

We moved him into a palliative care room that offered more comfort for all of us, and we worked hard to manage his pain and ensure his comfort. 

At this point, I still lacked a clear understanding of palliative care and why he suddenly had different nurses for hospice support.

I observed his breathing becoming slower, his skin temperature changing, and he seemed to sleep more than be awake. Then, suddenly, his breathing changed significantly. I would lean in close to hear his breaths and watch his chest rise and fall, wondering how many times he would stop breathing for what felt like an eternity. Anxiety filled my mind as I grappled with questions about his condition.

When his final breath came, it was gentle, and his facial expression changed to one of peace. A comforting presence filled the room, and I realized we were no longer alone. It was the most surreal experience I had ever encountered.

In that moment, it hit me... he was gone!

Unsure of how to process his death and make sense of it all, I fell into a deep state of grief unlike anything I had ever experienced. After six months of feeling lost and empty, I sought out grief counseling to help me navigate the profound loss and to discover how my life would continue without him. I had changed in ways I never expected.

I watched my Dad's final battle with ongoing heart issues that had troubled him for many years. However, his kidneys began to fail suddenly and at a rapid rate. 

To ensure he had the best end of life support, we decided on palliative sedation.  Once he was moved into a Palliative Care room, as he was very anxious, agitated, and unsettled. I didn’t realize until after his passing that the failing kidneys allowed toxins to invade his body, which explained his behavior that was so different from his normal self. 

Having been more familiar with the dying process this time, I began to notice the changes almost immediately. Unfortunately, staffing was shorthanded, and once again, he would have died alone had we not been there. 

I watched my Dad take his last breath and felt his last heartbeat; then that same gentle calmness enveloped the room.

However, the grief, anxiety, and depression that followed were almost debilitating. Seeking grief counseling became essential as I processed the reality of losing someone who was only 78 years old. 

Palliative care guidance had been pivotal during his final moments, helping to ease his transition.

Over the last year, I watched my Mama steadily decline. I spoke to her the night before and sensed that something was wrong. I called for an ambulance to take her to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with pneumonia.

The first couple of weeks were fairly normal and steady. At 96 years old, she had a routine and certainly knew what she wanted and what she didn’t.

One morning, she expressed the need to talk and shared her desire to stop all medications. She began eating less, though she was still drinking normally. 

We also had an honest discussion about end of life support and MAID. I did my best to listen, trying to understand from a place of love. She had raised me, loved me unconditionally, and taught me how to be someone she was proud of.

During the third week of hospitalization, she stopped drinking as well. A day later, she acquired the "C Diff" infection from the antibiotics, resulting in an intestinal issue. Due to the highly infectious nature of the bacteria, she had to be put into quarantine, and the only available room was in Palliative Care.

We used mouth swabs and ice chips to keep her hydrated, and Chapstick was a regular necessity. She frequently insisted she just wanted to sleep and asked when she could go home. My children were present throughout this journey, ensuring she felt our love. We shared memories, laughed, and cried together.

We ultimately decided on Palliative Sedation the following day. This option provided her relief from discomfort and allowed her to rest, with her body in charge of what would happen next.

After initiating palliative care guidance with Palliative Sedation, the dying process commenced rapidly. I suppose this was partly due to her stubbornness, which had finally come to an end.

Less than 12 hours later, her body began to shut down. Surrounded by family, we told her it was okay to go. We held her hands, stroked her face, and kissed her forehead, speaking words of love in those final moments.

We felt her last heartbeat and heard her last breath. She was gone. The room was filled with a comforting presence of beings we couldn’t see but could feel, ensuring she was not alone as they took her home.

By the end of her life, my understanding of the dying process deepened. I could accept her death with more confidence than I had with anyone else before.

Yet, the grief that followed was overwhelming—it was unlike anything I had experienced. I felt like I was drowning in my sorrow.

A close friend recommended a grief counselor, and it was the best decision I ever made. We went through many sessions, both in person and via video. Without her support, I honestly don’t know if I would have survived those feelings.

She listened wholeheartedly, and I am forever thankful for her gentle honesty, knowledge, and understanding in my time of need. If you are grieving and it becomes too hard to bear, I encourage you to reach out to a grief counselor.