I Didn’t Want
Anyone to
Die Alone

BY SARAH HINES
The Good Samaritan Society
OCTOBER 8, 2026

A few decades ago, someone I knew was dying of AIDS.

His family had disowned him. AIDS was still something people feared,
something people didn’t understand, and I couldn’t sit with the idea that someone we loved could be left to die alone.

So, in my early 20s, I started volunteering in home hospice.

I sat at bedsides.

I cleaned toilets.

I made meals and did grocery shopping for people who couldn’t do it themselves.

I was there in the quietest, most vulnerable moments of people’s lives. And it changed me.

 

The Work That Stays With You 

It was the most meaningful work I have ever done.

There is a depth of honor in being with someone at the end of their life that’s hard to describe. Being needed in that moment, when everything else falls away, stays with you.

Even now, when I talk about it, I feel it.

But doing that work in your 20s also changes you in other ways. It can harden you. And at a certain point, I needed to step back.

 

Trying to Step Away… But Not Really

I spent the next few years building a career in tech sales. On the surface, it was a different world. But I never really left the work behind.

I kept finding my way back to it, through becoming a death doula, studying alternative education, becoming a funeral celebrant.

I wasn’t looking to do more. I was looking to go deeper. To better understand how we experience death, grief, and everything that comes with it.

 

When It Became Personal

It wasn’t until my best friend died that I truly understood what grief looks like at work.

The isolation.

The guilt.

The pressure to keep performing.

I wasn’t fully present. I was hard on myself for not meeting my own
expectations.

And what I realized was this: The problem wasn’t me. It was how little space there was for grief in the places we spend most of our time.

 

What We Don’t Know How to Do

Many of us don’t know how to show up for grief.

We don’t want to intrude, don’t want to say the wrong thing, don’t want to feel like a burden.

So we avoid it. We try to contain it, and we push it into places that feel more controlled, more manageable.

But grief doesn’t work that way.

 

What I’ve Learned About Leadership

I’ve come to believe that leadership is revealed in these moments.

In how we respond to discomfort, whether we make space for hard conversations, and whether we are willing to sit with what we don’t fully understand.

It’s easy to talk about values. It’s much harder to live them when things get difficult.

But that’s where the real work is.

 

Holding Onto Grace

This kind of change doesn’t happen quickly.

I’ve seen many leaders talk about compassion. Fewer act on it.

And so my response has had to be grace. For others. And for myself.

Because this is a long process. And many people will take the emotional shortcut.

But the work still matters. And it’s needed.

 

What Grace Actually Means

We have this tendency to believe our worth is defined by others.

But you are already whole, capable, and enough.

Give yourself grace as you apprentice with life. Stay with that.

Because when you do, you begin to extend that same grace to others. And that’s where understanding begins.

 

Why This Work Matters to Me

I could point to the growth of my work. The number of people we’ve supported. The impact across organizations.

But the moments that stay with me are much quieter. A call in the middle of the night. Someone finding the courage to say, “I need help.” Someone facing an impossible decision. Someone losing the person they love.

And in those moments, I get to create space for them to fall apart. That’s the work. That’s what matters.

 

What I Continue to Be Drawn To

I’m still learning. Still exploring.

Right now, I’m drawn to ritual and ceremony, how we create meaning in moments that feel impossible to hold.

Because grief isn’t just something to manage.

It’s something to honor.