The Death Keeper Collective is a community for people who feel called to support others through death, dying, and end of life with presence, care, and respect.
We bring together death doulas, end of life practitioners, and allied professionals who believe this work is not about fixing or rushing, but about staying. Staying present. Staying grounded. Staying human in moments that matter most.
The Collective exists to offer connection, shared wisdom, ethical guidance, and support for those doing this work. It is a place to learn, to reflect, to ask questions, and to be supported by others who understand the unique emotional landscape of end of life care.
We gather once a month for a virtual get together, creating space for conversation, connection, and community. All who work in death and dying are welcome, whether you are experienced, newly called, or simply seeking a place to belong.
At its heart, the Death Keeper Collective is about companionship, steadiness, and care, for those we serve and for one another.
Who We Are
We lead with presence before practice. We arrive as humans first, not as modalities or titles. Tools stay in the background unless they are truly supportive in the moment. We do not rush meaning, offer reframes, or search for explanations. Meaning, if it comes, arrives in its own time. Silence is not something to fill. It is a skill we respect, and we speak only when words genuinely serve.
The person who is dying sets the tone. Their needs, pace, beliefs, and wishes come first, always. Families are part of the field as well, and we honor the full emotional and relational space without trying to manage or fix it. Care is never a performance. It is quiet, grounded, and honest. Boundaries protect everyone, and we remain clear about scope, roles, and limits, referring out when needed. What is witnessed is held with deep confidentiality and care.
We tend our own nervous systems so we can show up steady and present. Rest, reflection, and support are essential to this work. There is no hierarchy here, only shared responsibility and respect. Above all, we stay human. We allow ourselves to feel, to be moved, to be quiet, and to not know. Presence, humility, and care are the foundation.
Join Us
Our onboarding process for new Keepers is intentional and gentle. It exists to protect the field without turning it into gatekeeping. Conversations center on lived experience, capacity for presence, and how someone relates to uncertainty, silence, grief, and not knowing. This is less about credentials and more about how a person shows up.
Before acceptance, there is an alignment conversation. This is not an interview or evaluation, but a mutual sensing. We listen for humility, steadiness, and respect for the work. The Keeper Oath is approached as a threshold, read with intention rather than skimmed or rushed. Clear roles and boundaries are named from the beginning to prevent confusion and power dynamics.
Ongoing check ins focus on nervous system health, boundaries, and sustainability, not productivity or outcomes. Stepping back is always allowed, and leaving the collective can happen without shame or explanation. Clean, respectful exits are part of caring for the work itself.
To be a keeper is to stay.
Not to fix. Not to rush. Not to take over. To stay.
A keeper holds space when things are heavy and uncertain. They witness what is unfolding without trying to shape it into something easier to look at. There is a quiet responsibility in that. You are entrusted with a moment, a person, a threshold, and you tend it with care.
A keeper watches over what is sacred or vulnerable. That might be a body, a breath, a room, a family, a story, a final chapter. You protect dignity. You protect calm. You protect truth. Sometimes all you do is make sure nothing essential is disturbed.
In death work, a keeper is someone who remains present when others do not know how. You keep vigil. You keep time. You keep the tone of the space steady and humane. You help others feel less afraid simply because you are not afraid to be there.
There is also an element of memory. A keeper remembers what mattered. What was said. What was felt. What should be honored. You carry those things carefully, without making them about yourself.
Being a keeper is not passive. It is an active, embodied choice to hold, to guard, and to witness without needing recognition. It is strength that looks like stillness.
And honestly, it is one of the oldest roles humans have ever held for one another.
