CALLED TO BE A DEATH DOULA

I never set out to become a death doula. It wasn’t something I planned or even imagined I’d be called to do. But as with so many things in my life, God had a purpose I couldn’t see at the time.

One by one, people close to me became ill. And somehow, in each situation, I found myself right there — at their side, nursing them physically, emotionally, and spiritually through their final season. Looking back, I can see it wasn’t by chance. God was gently preparing me for this ministry long before I realised it.

Being a death doula is unlike any other calling. It’s a sacred privilege to sit beside someone as they prepare to leave this world. You walk with them through fear, pain, memories, and acceptance. You become their hands, their comfort, their voice — and sometimes their strength when they have none left.

I nursed four close friends through their final days. Each journey was completely different. Some were peaceful and filled with grace; others were heartbreaking, full of resistance and struggle. But in every one, I witnessed God’s gentle hand guiding us — even through the hardest moments.

One of my dearest friends became part of our family during her final weeks. She moved into our home and stayed in my son’s room, which we lovingly transformed into a place of warmth and care. It was round-the-clock nursing — long nights, constant prayer, and quiet moments of comfort. We laughed together, cried together, and talked about heaven often.

Eventually, her care needs became too great for me to manage alone, and we admitted her into palliative care. I couldn’t bring myself to leave her side. A close friend and I stayed with her day and night, taking turns sleeping in a chair beside her bed. On my last shift, I finally went home to rest, only to receive the call that her time was near. I drove straight back, walked into her room, and as soon as she saw me, she looked over my shoulder — and then peacefully passed away.

In that moment, I felt God’s presence so strongly. It was as if she had waited for me to come back so she wouldn’t be alone. Being able to care for her — and all my friends — in their most vulnerable time was one of the greatest honours of my life.

But not every experience was a blessing. One of my dear friends, whom I also nursed and advocated for, found it very hard to accept her fate. She fought against it with everything she had. It was emotionally exhausting, and spiritually heavy. I prayed constantly for peace — for her, and for me. Some days I felt completely drained, yet I knew God had placed me there for a reason.

We went through a lot of spiritual deliverance together. There were powerful moments of prayer, tears, and release — times when God’s presence filled the room so strongly that we could feel His peace wrapping around us. And just before her death, something miraculous happened.

She opened her eyes, looked upward, and her face softened with a peace I hadn’t seen in months. She whispered something only she and God could understand, and then she smiled. She told me she could see Jesus. I was right there beside her to witness it.

It was the most beautiful, holy moment — a glimpse of heaven right here on earth. The fear that had gripped her for so long melted away, replaced by perfect calm. I knew then that God had received her, that her struggle was finally over, and she was free.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” — Psalm 23:4 (NIV)

Being called into this kind of work comes at a cost. It’s physically draining and emotionally raw. There are nights when I’ve cried until I couldn’t anymore, asking God why He keeps placing me in these moments of goodbye. But the answer always comes gently — because love doesn’t walk away when things get hard. Love stays.

And that’s what being a death doula is about. Staying. Praying. Holding space for another soul to meet their Maker. It’s about faith in its purest form — trusting that even in the pain, God’s grace is there.

Each friend I’ve helped has left an imprint on my heart. Their faces, their words, their courage — they’ve taught me how to live more fully, not just how to die peacefully.

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His faithful servants.” — Psalm 116:15 (NIV)

I don’t take this calling lightly. It’s holy ground. And though it breaks me open every time, it also fills me with peace — because I know I’m walking exactly where God wants me to be.

Christine Bunn

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