It Started in the Parlor: My Journey to Death Care

There was a parlor in the house I grew up in. My mom took great pleasure in sharing with anyone who came through the door what the historical context of a parlor room was, how it was used, and how home funerals used to be the norm. She was absolutely tickled by it, and our parlor was without a doubt the most lovingly tended room in our home, filled with flourishing plants, antique furniture and a beautiful old piano. It was also, I think, the origin of my curiosity about mourning rituals, funerary customs, memento mori, and the many ways that people die in cultures around the world.

When I think about what my own home funeral may look like one day, that parlor is most definitely the space I envision. 

In the Parlor, before Freshmen year formal. 1992

One day in 2009 my mom learned about the emerging work of death doulas and suggested I might pursue a similar path. In addition to our shared interest in the mysteries of dying and the many ways we honor it, we had both been deeply impacted by the death of my grandmother, and our experience caring for her. Her dying phase was attended to by my sisters Sara and Sacha, my mom, and me. Near the end, she experienced what’s referred to in hospice care as a rally. She hadn't spoken or eaten anything for many days, but suddenly she was lucid and laughing and SO very hungry; requesting chicken fried steak and vanilla ice cream from her favorite diner, Hof's Hut. We were so lucky for those moments. I'm so grateful for the magic offered by this mysterious phenomenon, the rally. 

We stayed right by her side hour after hour, never leaving her alone, until one day someone suggested she might prefer we were being more productive. We each stepped away, dispersing to clean up, do dishes, and attend to the household duties she would have been so bothered to see slipping. She died while we were busy. Not one of us was surprised.

I was profoundly impacted by the experience of caring for her side by side with the women I love and admire most, but I had a career and two small sons, and didn't feel like I'd yet experienced enough life and grief to do such work.

Life went on and in 2017, my beautiful Mom, my not so connected Dad, and my beloved Father-in-law all died within ten weeks of each other. Here I was with a sudden and unrequested education on death and dying in America, and a renewed interest in this space that I'd always found so beautiful and rich with emotion and intention and reverence.

I wasn't present for my mother's death. In a similar fashion to my Nano, Mom waited until all three sisters had stepped away to tend to the many things we'd set aside while sitting with her. I haven't fully unpacked it all, but I'm sure there was some measure of intention there. Mom lived quite poetically, so it tracks.

The first thing I thought when I saw my mom in her hospital bed after she died was, I just wish we could have washed her hair. I wished we could have kept her with us a little bit longer, and had the opportunity to tend to her in the many ways that she had tended to us throughout our lives. I don't think she ever actually said she wanted a home funeral. I guess I just kind of assumed that's what would happen. Because of her love for that parlor.

My final goodbye to my beautiful Mama Judith. I didn’t know then that we could have taken her home.

From there began my unraveling. I dove head first into studying the plants that could support this wild and entirely disorienting grief journey I'd found myself on. My long-term interest and dabbling in herbalism and the connection to the world around me it inspired became my healers.

And I just kept unraveling. In 2019 my husband and I sold nearly all our possessions and moved into an RV to travel the US and figure out where we might want to call home. We traveled and lived in forests across this beautiful land until June of 2022, when we decided to take a gamble and set down some still temporary roots in Western North Carolina, a place we'd not yet even visited.

I like to say that when we decided to move out here, the road unfolded effortlessly in front of us. David started work the day after we arrived, and was promoted within three weeks. And I stumbled right into a thriving deathcare community I didn't even know existed.

My entry into this work started with an interest in home funerals, naturally.

While laid up with a broken heel and ankle in December of 2022, I began volunteering with the Home Funeral Alliance, helping with their State Laws project. They were attempting to locate and clarify laws regarding home funerals for every state in the country. It was a huge project that ultimately proved so complex they sought out support from Wake Forest Law School students, and only culminated in sharing their findings in early 2026. In addition to my work on the project, I dove into any home funeral education I could find on YouTube, in books, and in the community. Thanks to the almighty algorithm, I learned about a gathering on community deathcare at a place called the Center for Conscious Living and Dying, now known as Emberlight, just a few miles away in Swannanoa, NC. I had no idea how that moment would change my life.

What I didn't know when I arrived was that this beautiful place in the mountains of Western North Carolina was home to a group of people offering 24-hour support for people at the end of life and after death, at entirely no cost. Death doulas. In action.

I was in.

Sunrise over Emberlight. Photo by Mama T

Over the years I'd seen end-of-life doula education evolve and had considered training, but my greatest hesitation was knowing I'd never feel truly comfortable offering that kind of care after classroom or online learning only. My experience with my grandmother highlighted just how much this work relies on lived experience. And here was an opportunity to remember, and to be apprenticed by wisdom keepers who'd been carrying this torch for a long time.

Most of my early time as a doula was spent in the eleventh hour, tending to people who are mostly sleeping. Bedside vigil, typically as respite for a very tired caregiver. Creating whatever space might feel most beautiful, reading favorite stories, playing music, offering loving touch, helping families understand the process of dying. But I've also had the gift of walking alongside people much earlier in their journey, sitting with the big sorrows, witnessing the parts of themselves they were most ready to put down, and learning that really, really hard lives can also be filled with beauty and meaning and an endless generosity of spirit. You can read more about those experiences here.

After completing end-of-life direct care training through the Center, I went on to complete the End of Life Doula Specialist Program through the International Doula Life Movement, and I now hold End-of-Life Doula and After Death Care Educator proficiency badges through the National End-of-Life Doula Alliance. I've also completed the Caring for Veterans Through the End of Life course with Qwynn Galloway-Salazar, PhD, founder of In Their Honor, and subsequently became an approved speaker on the Home Funeral Alliance Speakers' Bureau. I see this as a path of lifelong learning, continually listening, growing, and finding new ways to serve with compassion and integrity. 

Through my practice, Little Black Train Deathcare, I offer non-medical end-of-life care, home funeral guidance, and support for families who want to bring more presence, meaning, and agency to the dying process. I help people navigate their options and tend to death in a way that feels aligned with their values, culture, and community. I'm also currently developing a deathcare collective here in Western North Carolina with fellow doulas and dear sisters, because this work has always been about caring together.

I don't know where it will take me from here. But I know I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.