Confessions of a Doula's Dog | Compassion | Country Walks

I thought that some of you might be interested in my work as a Doula.

I have worked with families for a very long time; I am a Mother to three wonderful and very nearly grown-up people and I have run a pre-school in Hampshire since forever.

When my Father died I wanted to honour him by burying him on his farm.  I struggled to talk to him about his wishes right until the end; I did not have the courage to raise such a personal issue.

As is so often the case, events overtook us ... he was terminally ill and had made it clear to the doctors that he wanted no further intervention.  He died in his own bed with those whom he loved carrying on as best they could around him.

We buried him in a clearing on the farm.  The only people present were his immediate family, a very compassionate funeral director (who happened to be my son's rugby coach) and the dogs.

I knew then that I needed to learn to do this job properly and by that I don't mean the formality of being a celebrant but the humanity of being there for someone as they find their way through the morass of paperwork; fending off well meaning intervention from those who think they know what it is that YOU want.

The reality is that until you are faced with the end you will not know what it is that you want.  You will go around in circles trying to be brave and to listen to what others want - all the time submitting to a raft of decisions that you cannot really process and that may or may not result in a death that you feel was right.  That might sound a strange thing to say; no death is right - but the way that we make our ending, the chance to repair fences and to say a proper goodbye is, to me, the most important part of a good death; a death where everyone feels as comfortable as it is possible to feel.

I find that a long walk with my dog is the perfect thinking ground for what feels right for me and I offer that service to others.  We may not say very much to each other - it is the time to just be present; to look at the world quietly.

Sometimes the bereaved person as plenty to say - they need to clear their minds of all the junk that has accumulated from the protracted business of dying.  My dog does not judge them, he is delighted to be outside searching for squirrels.

Sometimes you may be overcome with emotion - a fallen log and an absorbent Jack Russell is ideal, cry it out, scream till your lungs hurt - you will feel better for it.  But be certain that I am there to hold your hand and to listen to your sadness and from what you say and the way that you are; I will know your pain ... I cannot lessen it, I do not have the answers but me and my dog can be with you and we will not walk on by.