My Journey

A native New Yorker, I grew up in a lively home with seven siblings, my parents, and a collection of pets—cats, dogs, and even a pigeon my father rescued. Despite the ups and downs of family life, caring for others was always a constant.  When I became a parent, I raised my son Chase with the same values of care and compassion.

In 2012, I watched my best friend from childhood take her last breath. I know one of the last things she saw was the shock on my face, as a team of doctors tried unsuccessfully to resuscitate her. Several months before, we had planned a spa weekend after we both had our colonoscopies (of course, not at the same time). Cathy and I had been friends since we were 9, and by the time we finished college, we were like family. She was the no-nonsense glue that held us all together. Losing her devastated our circle, and it was especially hard on my son, her godson. They had a bond that surpassed ours, for which I was incredibly grateful, especially as a single parent. I think they understood each other, both having been raised by single parents. I don’t know what happens after we die, but whenever I hear “Only the Good Die Young,” I’m certain she’s on that list.

In 2009, my mother died. At the same time, Cathy was recovering from surgery, and telling her was harder than hearing the news myself. My mom had a “healthy” relationship with death. She’d often say, “Anything after 70 is icing,” having made peace with her time growing shorter. Though she had many chronic conditions, you wouldn’t know it from looking at her. She died at 80, and her wish to not die in the rehab facility was granted. Though it wasn’t at home, she passed peacefully in a sunlit room overlooking Central Park. When my father died in 2016, it awakened the grief gene in me. His death brought grief I hadn’t expected, and I realized I hadn’t truly faced my own. I didn’t know that feeling nothing was a feeling— especially when you expect loss to bring you to your knees. When Cathy died, I felt nothing but anger and, in hindsight, a disconnect. That “non-feeling” made me question my faith and my relationships. That questioning led me on the rollercoaster path of grief.

As I worked through my grief, I realized that caring for others has always been central to my life. My parents often cared for ill or dying relatives and friends, instilling in me compassion and the importance of support. In high school, I sang at hospitals for the severely mentally disabled. I’ve been part of cancer support groups, escorting people to appointments, and when I became a mother, I included my son in visits to friends or neighbors who had no one. Together, we’d spend time with them.

My path became clear after completing doula training, initially as part of my grief process. Within a month of training under Henry Fersko-Weiss, renowned death doula who co-founded the International End of Life Doula Association (INELDA) in 2015, I knew this work was my calling. Over the years, I’ve supported friends and family facing loss—whether it was a spouse, sibling, parent, or beloved pet.