A Reflection on the Anniversary of a Friend’s Repose

Honoring the Anniversary of a Holy Death

Today marks the anniversary of a dear friend’s death—one that shaped my understanding of compassionate end-of-life care. His final days revealed something sacred about the act of simply being present, offering prayer, and honoring the soul as it approaches the threshold of death.

In the Orthodox Christian tradition, we don’t let such days pass silently. Instead, we remember and pray. This evening, I stood in the soft candlelight of the church, surrounded by chant and incense during the memorial service, or pannikhida. The prayers were steady and sorrowful, but filled with hope. As incense rose like a visible prayer, my heart returned to the memory of his final days.

His Gaze Reached Beyond This World

During those last days, I often sat beside his bed reading Psalms aloud. The words comforted us both. But what I remember most were his eyes. His gaze was clear—so clear it seemed to reach through the veil between worlds.

He looked at me, yes. But I sensed that he was already seeing something more. To him, I was becoming less substantial, while the unseen—the saints, the angels, the Kingdom—grew more solid. That mystery stayed with me long after he passed.

The Threshold of Death is Sacred Ground

In that moment, I realized something: I had not been guiding him; he was already ahead of me. I could walk with him to the door of death, but he stood more firmly on eternal ground than I did. The peace and clarity in his face showed me what it means to approach the threshold of death without fear.

That experience quietly reshaped my life. It helped form the foundation of my work as a death doula.

The Death Doula offers Compassionate End-of-Life Care

In ancient myths, the ferryman Charon carried souls across the river of death for a price. But my work as a doula isn’t to transport or to toll. It is to accompany—to walk beside someone as they approach the door, and to offer stillness, reverence, and presence.

I do not have answers. But I carry the faith that death is not the end. I help people see the treasure they within themselves and their life: their dignity, their stories, and their place in the love of God.

Love Remembers Beyond the Grave

In the Orthodox Church, we end our memorial services by singing, again and again, “Memory eternal.” We don’t say this because we fear forgetting, but because we believe that love continues. We pray for the departed not out of uncertainty, but because they remain part of us—held in the mercy of God and embraced by the communion of saints.

A Calling Rooted in Holy Ground

As I stood tonight in the flickering light of the church, with the chant washing over me and the scent of incense filling the air, I remembered his eyes. They were not afraid. They were steady and clear—already seeing what I could only imagine.

That gaze stays with me. It continues to teach me how to be present to the dying—not as a guide with answers, but as a faithful companion walking beside them in peace and prayer.

May his memory be eternal.