By: Gabrielle Jimenez

When I walk into the room of a patient, I always remember that this isn’t about me, and that every situation will be different, therefore never assuming anything, and always being prepared for everything.

Sometimes there will be a large crowd of family and friends, which can be overwhelming and can throw me off a bit. I have learned to work the room, which means I assess each person, watching their facial expressions and mannerisms as I try to find the one who might need my support the most. I will go to them, sit down next to them and ask if there are any questions they might need answers to, or anything I can do for them. Sometimes I am spot on and this person welcomes the support, and other times, they don’t need anything at all from me and would prefer not to talk, and I respect that.

Sometimes I just take a step back, and I make myself available, but I don’t get in their way. I know that they know this person better than I do, and their situation is not about me, so I do not get to tell them how they should be around them. But I do let them know I am there, I guide them if needed, I applaud them for the beautiful care they are providing, and I educate them about what to expect and what to be prepared for.

Sometimes there is only one person at the bedside and when I walk into the room, I see tear-stained eyes, and a body that is hunched over the bed from both physical and emotional exhaustion and my first reaction is to comfort them, which is what I do. As long as my patient is not struggling in some way, and there are no immediate symptoms which I need to try and resolve, the person I want to offer comfort and support to, is the one who is struggling with saying goodbye.

Sometimes, I walk into the room and no one is there except for the person who is dying, and they are dying alone. I always assume they hear me, so I tell them who I am and why I am there. I sit down next to their bed, I ask them if I can take their hand, and if they do not respond, I gently put their hand in mine and I sit in silence for a moment. This is their room, their body and their experience, my only role is to let them know they are not alone. I might see photos of their life next to the bed, which indicates to me they once had a family, and friends and made memories. Sometimes, I see nothing next to their bed, and I feel a sense of sadness in my heart. Regardless of what I see, or don’t see, I sit quietly at their bedside being fully present for them and honoring their life, at their death, because I believe all humans deserve that.

This work is not about us, we are not there to fix anything, or change the dynamics of years-worth of disconnect. We cannot somehow magically bring people together, or bandage brokenness. We cannot tell a person how to grieve or how to feel when someone they love is dying. Our role is to be fully present and hold space for them in any way that is needed, without judgement, personal comment or deflecting from their experience and making it about us.

But when that last breath has been taken, and the hush I have heard a million times fills the room, I take in a deep breath and I try really hard to hold in my tears. And even though I know this is not about me, sometimes I cry.

Sometimes people die alone, sometimes they are surrounded by a group of people who love them fiercely, sometimes there is struggle, sometimes there is peace, sometimes there is laughter, and sometimes there are tears. This work we do can be beautiful, but it can also be difficult. Sometimes we can hold the tears in, sometimes there are none, and sometimes we sit in our car afterwards and sob. Sometimes our tears are about the family we just watched say goodbye, sometimes it is the reminder of someone we once lost, and sometimes it is simply about a death and the fact that every single day we are reminded about how truly fragile and precious life is, and that alone can bring a tear to our eye.

Gabrielle was introduced to end of life care when she was asked to sit at the bedside of a friend who was dying. The time she spent with him ignited a calling she realizes now, had been inside her since she was very young. It was caring for him that inspired her to go back to school to become a hospice nurse. In her first book, "Soft Landing" she talks about the struggles she had going back to school later in life. In her second book, "The Hospice Heart", she takes you back to her childhood, which clearly indicates she was meant to do this work since she was seven years old. Both books offer an insight into her compassionate and gentle heart and the lovely way she provides comfort and care to someone who is dying, as well as for those who have to say goodbye.

Her intention is to combine her hospice experience with being an end of life doula, continuing to provide beautiful care at the end of life. Gabrielle brings her whole heart and shares it generously.

Gabrielle's latest book At The Bedside has just been released, you can get it now: Purchase "At the Bedside"

Have you been called to become a sacred passage end-of-life doula?