Crossing Gently: A Dia de los Muertos Conversation with Mikey the Death Doula
Between mortality and myth, the death doula walks where fear of the unknown becomes sacred passage
By: Amanda Albert
While the world often averts its gaze from endings, Death Doula Mikey Marin turns toward them — gently, deliberately, without illusion. Her work lives in the quiet hours before departure, when the veil between life and death thins and love begins its transformation into memory.
Photo Credit: @mikeythedeathdoula
In honour of Día de los Muertos, The Lace Ledger sat down with Mikey to explore what it means to die well, to grieve honestly and to recognize the grace in letting go. She spoke to us about the beauty of ritual, the mystery of “the other side” and the ways death can teach us to live with greater reverence.
For those unfamiliar with the role, what does a death doula do — and how does it differ from the support offered by hospice or medical staff?
I’m sure you’ve heard of a birthing doula or midwife — they help us labour into the world. Death Doulas help us labour out. My work supports the emotional, spiritual and practical sides of dying.
Hospice focuses on medical care; I focus on comfort. I help families navigate fear, create ritual and find meaning so death is treated not as a clinical event, but as a sacred human transition.
When do people typically seek the guidance of a death doula? Is it usually initiated by the individual nearing death, or by their loved ones who sense the time approaching?
It’s usually when the reality of death starts to settle in — when someone realizes, “we can’t avoid this anymore.” Sometimes it’s the individual wanting to approach their death consciously and with peace. Other times it’s the family, overwhelmed and unsure how to help.
Many people reach out once hospice is involved, but there’s a common misconception that hospice staff are there 24/7. They provide incredible medical care, but most families are surprised to learn that visits are brief — which leaves long hours of emotional, physical and spiritual care uncovered. That’s often when I’m called in.
Some death doulas focus solely on emotional or spiritual support, while others — like me — also assist with activities of daily living, legacy projects, end of life care planning or grief work. As a Master-Level Grief Coach and Advanced Reiki Practitioner, I often blend these modalities to support both the dying and the living through the entire process with compassion, calm and presence.
How did you find your way into this work? Was there a personal experience or calling that first led you toward end-of-life care?
My path began after a near-death experience in 2012. I was working as a social worker when a car ran a red light and hit me. I flatlined, and though I survived, it took years to heal — learning to walk, drive and live again. That experience completely changed my understanding of life and death, as well as purpose.
When I recovered, I felt called to serve others facing that same threshold. I became certified in End-of-Life Care, Master-Level Grief Coaching and Advanced Reiki Practitioner, and founded Healing Hearts House LLC to bridge the gap I saw in end of care. Most people want to die at home, yet families often can’t manage that alone. My mission is to make that possible — to bring comfort and compassion back into dying.
Death is often treated as something clinical and/or tragic, while your work honours it as sacred. How do you help transform fear into peace for your clients and their families?
Fear often comes from avoidance — from not talking about death until it’s right in front of us. My work begins by creating safety in those conversations. When people feel seen and heard, the fear starts to loosen.
We create legacy projects together, have clear Advanced Directives/end of life plans, do breathwork, mindfulness, reiki healing and set clear expectations to shift the focus from panic to presence. Sometimes it’s as simple as soft music, light touch, or helping someone say what’s been left unsaid. I also pay attention to the energy in the room — calming not just the person dying, but the family too. Through Reiki and grounding work, I help everyone’s nervous systems settle so peace can take the place of fear.
When we approach death with honesty and love, fear softens into grace. It’s not about removing the sadness — it’s about bringing peace to the space where it lives.
What does a sacred, peaceful death look like? Can you describe what someone’s final day might be like when approached through ritual, dignity and care?
A sacred death doesn’t always mean a quiet one — it means an intentional one. The space feels calm and safe, the lighting soft and the air filled with love instead of fear. There’s conversation, laughter, forgiveness, or silence — whatever that soul needs.
I use Reiki, breathwork and gentle music to help shift the energy toward peace. Families begin to breathe slower, the room settles, the person naturally moves toward letting go. A peaceful death feels like a sacred exhale — love expanding until it fills the room, and then continuing on.
You witness profound emotion in your work — from serenity to utter devastation. How do you personally process the grief that accumulates when you hold space for so many departures?
I’ve learned to let grief move through me, not live in me. Every family, every goodbye, leaves an imprint — but it’s not mine to keep. After each passing, I have rituals of release: Reiki, grounding, music, time in nature and a gratitude practice to honour the life I’ve witnessed.
Those moments help me clear the energy so I can return to my own centre. Grief is sacred — it’s proof of love — but to serve others well, I have to keep my own cup full. I don’t close my heart to it; I just make sure it has somewhere to go.
There’s a lesser-discussed form of mourning — grief for the self, as we face our own mortality. How do you support someone navigating that internal farewell?
When someone knows they’re dying, they’re not just grieving the future — they’re grieving themselves. The body that once felt strong, the plans that will never unfold, the version of them that won’t get to grow older. I remind them that this kind of grief is natural.
We talk openly about what still feels alive — love, legacy, gratitude, even humour. I guide them through breathwork, Reiki, or simple conversation that lets them release what’s heavy and reclaim what’s meaningful. My role isn’t to take the sadness away, but to help them meet it gently — with acceptance, not fear. When we allow that self-grief to be witnessed, it often transforms into peace, clarity and even grace.
What, in your experience, is on the other side of grief? A moment of stillness or transcendence? What have your experiences taught you about that threshold between worlds?
On the other side of grief, I don’t think we find an ending — we find transformation. Grief doesn’t disappear; it changes shape. It becomes quieter, more integrated, woven into who we are.
At the threshold between life and death, there’s often a profound stillness — a sense that something greater is present. I’ve witnessed too many moments of peace, synchronicity and gentle recognition to believe death is the end. Sometimes the entire room shifts — everyone feels it, even if they can’t explain it. What lies beyond grief is love, simply expressed in a new form.
Many of your stories hold a trace of the mystical — dreams, whispers or synchronicities that appear near the time of passing. Have you encountered anything that made you reconsider what lies beyond?
I’ve witnessed more than I can explain. People seeing loved ones or pets who’ve already passed, reaching toward something — or someone — only they can see. I’ve felt rooms fill with warmth, seen clocks stop at the exact moment of death, lights flicker, or music begin to play without reason.
I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I know what I’ve felt — and it’s always peace. These moments don’t feel frightening or strange; they feel like a reunion. Whatever lies beyond this life, it seems to meet us with love. I often remind families to pay attention to those signs and trust what they feel — sometimes the unseen speaks the loudest.
What are some of the emotional or practical challenges you face in this work, and how do you protect your spirit while remaining so open to others’ pain?
The hardest part isn’t death — it’s the world around it. Our culture isn’t comfortable talking about dying, so families often reach out already overwhelmed. There can be fear, confusion and sometimes conflict. My role is to bring calm and compassion into that chaos, but it can be emotionally heavy work.
I protect my energy through boundaries and ritual — Reiki, grounding, journaling, time in nature and deep rest. I remind myself that the grief I witness isn’t mine to carry; I’m simply holding space for it to move. Remembering that this work is sacred service, not sacrifice, allows me to stay open without losing myself. Every death I witness deepens my gratitude for life — it’s the most humbling reminder of how precious each moment truly is.
What are some of the most common regrets your clients share? And how has that impacted your outlook personally, day to day?
The most common regrets I hear aren’t about money or success — they’re about moments missed. People wish they’d said, “I love you,” more, forgiven sooner, stopped waiting for the perfect time to live their life. They regret how much energy they gave to fear, perfection or other people’s opinions.
Hearing those confessions every day has changed me completely. I say what I need to say now. I rest without guilt, love without hesitation, and try to live with intention instead of waiting for “someday.” And take the vacation — travel, see the world, make the memories. I can tell you with absolute certainty: no one has ever told me they regretted that on their deathbed.
What is the most important end-of-life advice you can give when it comes to the business of death?
The kindest gift you can leave your family is clarity. Most of the chaos after death isn’t from grief — it’s from unanswered questions. Have the conversations early. Put your wishes in writing, name decision-makers, make sure someone knows where important documents are kept.
Talk about more than just funeral plans — talk about your values, your legacy and how you want to be remembered. These aren’t morbid conversations; they’re acts of love. Preparing for death doesn’t make it come faster — it just makes it gentler for the ones you leave behind. I often help families navigate this process together so everyone feels informed, empowered and at peace with what’s to come.
What is the biggest lesson that this career path has taught you?
That life is both fragile and extraordinary. Sitting beside the dying has shown me that most of what we worry about never really mattered — what lasts are the moments of love, laughter and connection.
I’ve learned that death isn’t the opposite of life, it’s part of it. We spend so much time trying to avoid it that we forget how to truly live. This work has taught me to slow down, to be present and to love people while I have the chance. That’s the real legacy any of us can leave behind.
Día de los Muertos celebrates death as reunión rather than separation. How does this tradition resonate with your philosophy on honoring the dead?
Día de los Muertos beautifully captures what I believe — that love doesn’t end when life does. The bond between the living and the dead is never broken; it just changes form. This celebration reminds us that remembering is an act of reunion, not sorrow.
I always encourage families to speak their loved one’s name, to tell stories, to create rituals that keep that connection alive. Whether through altars, photos, music, or simply saying, “I miss you,” we invite their spirit back into the room. The veil may thin, but the love never fades.
In your view, what can the living learn from death when we allow it to be present — not hidden away, but embraced as part of the human experience?
Death is the greatest teacher I’ve ever known. When we stop pretending it isn’t coming, we start to see life more clearly. We forgive faster, speak softer and love louder. We stop chasing perfection and begin choosing presence.
Allowing death into the conversation doesn’t create fear — it creates freedom. It reminds us that our time is precious and our purpose is connection. Death isn’t here to take life from us; it’s here to show us how sacred it truly is.
Finally, as the veil thins and we remember our ancestors, what message would you share with those grieving — or with anyone learning to love life more fiercely because it ends?
Grief is just love with nowhere to go — but over time, it finds a new way to live inside us. You can hold sorrow and joy at the same time; one doesn’t cancel out the other. Our loved ones don’t disappear — they transform, weaving themselves into the way we love, remember and show up in the world.
For anyone grieving, keep speaking their name. Keep living in a way that honours their story. And for those learning to love life more fiercely, let death be your reminder that nothing is promised — which is exactly what makes it all so precious. Love never dies; it just changes shape.
In the end, death is not a void — it is a threshold. Mikey reminds us that every farewell is also an initiation, every ending a return to the unseen.
Her work reveals what Día de los Muertos has always known: that love does not vanish into grief, it only changes form.
To honour loved ones passed is to remember that beauty, too, is impermanent — and that the most sacred acts we can offer life is to live it fully and with intention then to meet its conclusion with grace.
Connect with Mikey at Healing Hearts House, your sanctuary for compassionate end of life care, holistic education and emotional integration. Led by Mikey Marin, a certified End of Life Care Specialist, Death Doula and Advanced Reiki Practitioner, affectionately known as "Mikey The Death Doula".
The Healing Hearts House team offers a nurturing environment where mindfulness and Reiki energy work converge to provide profound support and comfort during life's most sacred transition. Embrace peace, empowerment and healing as you journey with us through life's final chapters. Currently, Healing Hearts House LLC is serving the Delaware County (Manoa, Broomall, Springfield) and Chester County (Paoli, Exton) communities.
