I’m Here to Sit with You: A Death Doula’s Story on Doing Our Best to Make Sure Someone Doesn’t Die Alone 

No one should die alone, unless of course they want to. And yes, some people want to. As a death companion in the No One Dies Alone program I’ve been told to leave the room by a dying patient, even though I was their only visitor. I honored their wishes. We don’t always know what a dying person wants or why, especially when we are called in for someone who is dying alone. We don’t always know who the dying person is either. We may know their legal name, but we do not necessarily know what they like to be called. Even their gender, no matter what those surrounding them may say, cannot really be known unless they tell us themselves, either verbally or by writing it down. Often times we don’t know if the dying person is spiritual or religious, or which music or scents they prefer. Even as experienced end of life doulas, we don’t always know. We encourage everyone to write their wishes down, though not everyone does. So we show up, we listen to our inner guidance, and we do our very best.

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Not too long ago I drove just a few miles from my home over to our local hospital to do my best to make sure someone didn’t die alone. When I walked into the room there was a dying man sleeping there, snoring, rasping. He was lying alone with the door shut, fluorescent lights above him, and a loud television on. The floor was wet like it had just been mopped and his tray table had some used tissues and a pool of water sitting on it. Though he was sleeping, I introduced myself out loud to him. Between the TV and his snoring, I’m not sure he heard me but something in me trusted that he did. The room was a bit stuffy and so I cracked the door. I also sprayed some homemade agua florida around to clear the air. I threw away the garbage and wiped down his tray.

My go-to in hospitals is to play Native American flute music for dying folks. There is a Lakota flutist I like and I’ve seen people relax and respond well to this music. I wanted to play it for this man but I was torn about turning the TV off. I mean, maybe he wanted the TV on? Maybe that’s how he slept?  Or maybe the nurse turned it on and he didn’t even want it? After a couple minutes of deliberating within myself, I decided to turn the TV off. I sat down and pulled my seat up as close to him as I could. I took a deep breath, turned the music on, and pointed my cell phone toward his ear. I sat back, observing him while the flute music played. Soon, he opened his eyes, scanned the room, and looked directly at me. He suddenly said in a weakened voice, “How long you been here?” I responded, “About 10 minutes. My name is Batul. I’m here to sit with you.” 

He gave me a short smile then glanced around the room a little more. In a soft voice, he told me he had pain in his legs so I found the nurse to give him his medication. He also told me he was thirsty and asked for ice water. I went out to the hall and got him the ice and water. When I came back I placed the bendy straw up to his lips. He drank and drank and made mmmm noises while sucking. While he was sipping I noticed there was crust in his eyes. I wondered the last time his face was washed. I wondered if he’d be alright with me washing his face. Just as I was about to ask him, a tray of lunch slid into the room. His eyes got big and he said, “Food”. I asked, “Are you hungry?” and to my surprise he nodded a fervent YES, a not-so-typical response from an actively dying person. But I went with it, with him. I put a towel on his chest and lifted the dome lid off the plate in front of him. He immediately grabbed the fork and dug into the mashed potatoes like they were the last he’d ever have. 

A few minutes later he set his fork down and began to close his eyes. It seemed the medication was starting to kick in. I asked if he was done eating and he nodded yes. I slipped the tray away and asked if he would be okay with me washing his face. With his eyes closed he said, “Yes, please”.  When I first walked in the room I noticed a square stack of clean, white washcloths near the sink, so I went over and wet one with warm water. I walked back and began to gently wash his face. What an honor to wipe his crusties away and clean off his mouth! He stuck his chin and lips out as if to say “Get here and here.” I then showed him my bottle of agua florida and asked him if I could rub some on his head. He gave me a smile and said, “Smells good”. And so I did. I sprayed the agua in my hands and lovingly patted his head, neck, and face. He cooperated and gave me a half smile. After that I noticed the clock. My time with him was soon to be up. I also noticed a pang in my heart at the thought of leaving. Nonetheless, I took a deep breath and told him I had to get going. In a tired voice he said, “Thank you for being here.” I said “You’re welcome. Bless you” and I blew him a kiss as I walked toward the door. To my sweet surprise he looked up at me with a soft face and blew me a kiss back.

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As death doulas, we use the skills we’ve learned and we count deeply on our inner guidance. We don’t always know who the dying person is or what they want, especially when we’re called in for someone who is dying alone.  While we’re determined to assure that no one dies alone, the truth is we won’t always be there when they go. But maybe ‘No One Dies Alone’ doesn’t mean we’ll always be there as they take their last breath. Maybe we’re there to insure that a person doesn’t die feeling alone. Maybe this is how we know we’ve done our job. Maybe this is how we know we’ve done our best.

No One Dies Alone (NODA) was originally founded in 2001 at Sacred Heart Medical Center in Eugene, Oregon. Since then, the program has spread to over 400 institutions: https://www.oprah.com/omagazine/kindness-of-strangers-how-one-nurse-made-sure-no-one-dies-alone/all