I sat with Death, and It sat with Me: facing mortality and becoming a death doula

In 2021, I got COVID and had to be hospitalized. I was scared, not only because I was sick, but because I was living in a country that was still new to me. I had arrived in Mexico in 2019, and at the time, I was living with two friends.

A photo of Yurani a month after leaving the hospital, where she had to shave her head due to her hair falling out. Photo: Yurani Cubillos

Everything felt uncertain, and without knowing it, I began my journey to become a death doula.

When we realized my oxygen levels were dangerously low, I needed to get to a hospital immediately. A private hospital was out of the question and far beyond my budget. Other hospitals were already at capacity. We were down to one option, and I was the last person they let in.

Once I was admitted, I had to surrender control in ways I hadn’t expected. It was then that I placed my trust in the two people I was living with. I handed them my debit card so they could cover my part of the rent and any expenses for medicine or hospital bills. I asked them to keep my mom updated, so she wouldn’t feel like she needed to do anything from afar. I placed my life, my logistics, and my worry into their hands.

It was through them that I learned what true community looks like,  people who show up, stay close, and care for you when you cannot care for yourself.

I spent nine days in the hospital. 

No phone. 

No books. 

No television.

Just me, my thoughts, and the bleak reality of people around me dying every day.

During my time in the hospital, I came face-to-face with something unexpected: my difficulty in asking for help. I felt exposed, deeply vulnerable. And that, too, became a lesson, learning to let go, to allow people to show up for me.

Yurani spending time in the sun after coming home from the hospital. Photo: Yurani Cubillos

It was there, in that vulnerability, that I began to hold my own mortality with curiosity rather than fear. Death was suddenly very close, too close for comfort. So I sat with it. And surprisingly, I felt at peace. I remember thinking: If this is my time, it’s okay.

I had lived a good life. I had loved and been loved. I was a good friend, a daughter, a sister, a neighbor, a kind stranger. I had taken risks. I had known heartbreak. I had said yes to things that scared me, and those choices had allowed me to grow. I wasn’t perfect. I made mistakes, and when I did, I owned them. I was growing, evolving, becoming more myself every day. But surviving something like that leaves a mark.

After I was discharged, I struggled to look at myself in the mirror. I almost didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. My eyes felt empty. I spent hours just looking, trying to understand who I was seeing. I wanted to document what I was feeling, and I quickly realized that I had almost forgotten how to write.

A representation of feeling outside of your body due to an illness. Composition: Yurani Cubillos

I began seeing a therapist to help me navigate what I had experienced. Through that process, I learned about death doulas and how proximity to death reshapes how we live. I became deeply intrigued by the end-of-life experience. At the time, I didn’t think it was something I could do. I felt too young. Too inexperienced. How could I possibly accompany someone at the end of their life?

A couple of years later, my yoga teacher mentioned that she was considering becoming a death doula. For a brief moment, something clicked. I thought I could do that. I’d love to do that. But time passed, and I didn’t act on it.

Last year, I had the experience of accompanying my boyfriend’s mother at the end of her life, not as a death doula, but as a friend. As someone who loved her, and who loved someone she loved. We shared stories. We laughed. We cried. We drank coffee. Sometimes I would just come over to sit with her, and sometimes I would nap. That experience reignited something in me.

I began searching again. And during that search, I came across Alua Arthur, a death doula, founder of Going with Grace, a death doula training and end-of-life planning organization. Her words, her story, her way of holding death resonated deeply with me.

I applied and was accepted.

I will begin my death doula training on January 17, three days after I turn 35.

This is a journey I’ll be documenting as it unfolds,  through writing, art, and shared spaces of gathering.

From Briefly Perfectly Human: Making an Authentic Life by Getting Real About the End, a book by death doula Alua Arthur. Photo: Yurani Cubillos

I didn’t arrive here with answers. I arrived with a willingness to be present. To sit. To listen. To walk alongside. This is how my journey into death work begins.

FAQs

1. What is a death doula?

A death doula is someone who provides emotional, spiritual, and practical support to a person at the end of life. They do not replace doctors or family. Their presence offers calm, listening, and care during a deeply human moment.

2. What does a death doula do during the dying process?

They hold space. They listen without judgment, help process fears, support important conversations, care for the family, and remain present as the body begins to let go.

3. Why would someone choose a death doula?

Because dying can feel lonely, confusing, or overwhelming. A death doula offers steady presence, respect for a person’s wishes, and a more conscious way of moving through the end. They help make death not only a medical event, but a human experience.

4. How does this work transform the person who practices it?

Being close to death changes how one lives. It teaches letting go of control, being present, and valuing every connection. I believe being a death doula is not only about accompanying others in their goodbye, but about learning to live with greater intention, compassion, and truth.

Our next blog will come out on Monday January 19 instead of Tuesday. It is a commemoration of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and inspiration from The Black Perspective at Howard University.