It’s my tradition on New Year’s Eve to watch one of those shows that come on every year about celebrities who have died in the past 12 months. It’s not that I want to watch. It’s just that I somehow can’t not watch. I follow up by noting how old each celebrity was, comparing their age to mine, and thereby calculating how many years of life I’m likely to have left.
I’m hoping I can make it through to the other side on my own. If not, I may need the help of a death doula, a sort of end-of-life midwife.
The word “doula” was used strictly in reference to birth until the late 1990s when it came to also describe a non-medical support person for a dying individual and their loved ones.
Morgan Everitt began Heron’s Flight, her agency offering compassionate care and unwavering support to those trying to navigate the complexities of terminal illness in 2016 following the year and a half she spent with her dying mother. “After being by her side through the experience, I realized I had a deep calling to become the caregiver my mom had been searching for.”
Her mother’s death started her reading books on death and dying, and in 2019, when she discovered that Mount Sinai Health System in New York offered a death doula program, she signed up. She shared her passion for this kind of service with her father who was recently hired as hospice chaplain at Pennswood Village.
The duties of an end-of-life doula are varied. They often include but are not limited to assisting with practical care to help ease the burden on caregivers, explaining the dying process, being a sounding board for the emotions of loved ones, supporting the spiritual practices of all involved, and sitting bedside vigil.
I ask Morgan about the name she chose, Heron’s Flight. Why a heron? “My mother is buried on top of a hill that looks down onto a beautiful creek. During her funeral, I noticed a heron soar down and perch by the creek at the very beginning of the service. It sat there watching and then as soon as the service was over the heron flew away again. I like to think that meant something.”
A heron again flew into Morgan’s life just a few months ago. “I was extremely nervous about a talk to a hospice group that I had coming up. I was driving down an empty road and a heron flew down and landed in the middle of the right lane, just in front of my car. We both sat still there for a minute or so before it took off again. I started laughing and thanked my mom.”
I ask Morgan how working with the dying has changed her feelings about the transition we will all make. “The more time I spend around death, the less I fear it. Our culture of fear is so strong because death is so hidden these days. I would also say my work has solidified my belief in an afterlife.”
She hastens to add, “It is never my agenda to force my own ideas about death on anyone. I believe strongly in respecting everyone’s beliefs.”
I ask what it’s like to sit in a room with a dying person. Do they still see the world you see? Or do they see something else? “It is incredibly common during the dying process for people to see their deceased family and loved ones on the other side. It’s a really beautiful and palpable phenomenon.”
“It’s also very common for the dying person to reach towards the sky, and talk to people others in the room cannot see. To hear someone talking to their dead parents is incredibly moving. You can almost feel the dying slowly shifting from this world to another one where there are people waiting for them.”
What about last words? Morgan tells me, “Cognition levels vary so much among the dying that last words range anywhere from practical to spiritual to unintelligible.”
Last year Morgan sat with a dying man who was watching the Superbowl. His last words were, “What’s the point spread?”
And life goes on…
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