Twelve-year-old me didn’t know how necessary it was to hold space for the dying, and I had no language for what it was I was doing. At 13, I became a hospice volunteer, sitting quietly, talking, feeding and playing games with patients, but it would be years later before I was able to put a name to the work I was doing to comfort the dying. https://www.latimes.com/opinion/story/2023-02-26/death-doula-hospice-care-community-dying-black-man-death-care