Fear and the Complete Unknown

Fear and the Complete Unknown

-By Sarah Dore

Two Years ago, with the encouragement and support of literally (yes this is the correct usage of the word) everyone I know, I went on a journey to become official as a Death Doula. I took a training course through Going With Grace. I read the books, I did the work, I built the website, joined up with the organizations, I even set up a facebook account after swearing I'd never be on social media again. And then, silence. All of the momentum. All of the work and excitement and building up and dreaming and hoping and believing came to a dead stop.

None of the desires were gone. I still wanted it. I still felt the pull, this is my calling, this is my path. This is my future, but my feet were frozen in cement and I could not for the life of me figure out how to take a step. Charlie, my ever patient, gentle yet willing to throw down a gauntlet partner, frequently asked me how he could support me, what I felt I needed to move forward? He tried to find ways to guide me out of the frozen place in my mind where I'd built a palace and opted to hunker down. The conversations would psych me up, only to walk away from them still paralyzed.

It all came down to one very simple answer. Fear. It has been the plague of my life and the thing I've worked hardest to overcome at every turn. Fear of failing, even worse, fear of succeeding. Fear of not being enough. Fear of being too much. Fear of not knowing as much as I needed to know. Fear of building this thing based on only me and what I could bring to the table. It has been a never ending loop of a non-stop inner-monologue telling me all the ways this wasn't going to work.

I've always been pretty introspective. I've for many years made it my focus to face fears head on. I've lived through several very deep, scary depressions that have taken me to the brink. In all of that I've always born this image of myself holding a tiny little seed of light, of hope, that no matter what, as long as this hope remained, no matter how small, I would get through this. Even over the last two years that little seed has survived in my hand, waiting for me to plant it in the earth and water it and give it life. Every time I have in the past, the outcome has brought me to my knees in awe of the shape my life has taken. The places my feet have gone because I have again chosen to live, and not just live but fight through the impossible and thrive.

It's interesting to talk about living and thriving in regards to building a life's work that is ultimately centered around death. But that's the goal, isn't it? To live life in such a way that leaving this world comes without fear, without regret, even fear that holds me fast from building and walking the path that I have known since 2016 was my way forward. In the nearly decade since I was present for the first death of resident in the care home I was working at until now, I have known I was in training. Every step has led to this moment. To this year. This process has played out over and over in small ways and in big ways, always asking the question, are you ready? I've answered yes and panicked. I've answered no and been given more to work through. but on the brink of 2025, I knew it was time. I've walked through the house, checking every fixture, every pipe, every single inch of space I've spent these last years designing and building and rebuilding until now. I can almost laugh at the ridiculousness of the over-preparedness for a whole lot of things I will never be able to prepare for and must instead just LIVE.

It's curious how strongly death mimics that very process of preparing, panicking, searching for every possible answer only to realize when the moment comes, while information can give some ideas, some level of preparedness, it is never actually enough to tell us the truth of the real, in the flesh experience. All of the unknowns come to the surface then. We can build a house of certainty, file the forms, plan the funeral, pay for the plot, write the will, and while all of that is important and frees us up to be present, it will never be enough to prepare us for the actual experience of dying or losing someone we love.

It's that realization that brings me full circle. Reminds me why all of this is important. the years of preparing, of freeing up space. It's so I can be present in the moment with the people who need it most, those leaving behind the world and the people they know and love best to walk through a door they can dream about and hope about, but will not know until they are through it. My hope in doing this work, is that I can help with some of the fear. While I don't know the answer with a certainty of what's through that door any more than the next person, I fully believe we can find peace in the getting there, comfort and connectedness in the walking through it.

Right now, I'm alive and well. My door is before me. It's a new one I've never walked through. Throughout the span of our lives, we will have thousands of unknown doors to walk through. I like to think they are all practice, a way through the labyrinth to that last door we will walk through in this life. Some doors take years to walk through. some doors we circle back to over and over again, those are the ones we must really pay attention to. While every door comes with unknowns and risks, so far I've found myself unable to regret a single one. Isn't that what it's really all about?

If you find yourself struggling to find peace with the door before you, Whether it's that final door, or one of the countless others that can stop us up for years, you're not alone. Reach out, whether it's to a friend, a mental health professional, me, just reach out. Even if it takes years of talking it through and trying to envision and prepare for every outcome, it's far more bearable if you're doing it with someone who believes in you and will hold your hand through the process.