"I Sit With People When They Die." A Conversation With a Death Doula in Utrecht.

Inge has held the hand of more than 200 people in their last hours. She talks about silence, family fights, the things people say in the final minutes — and the moment after.

Inge Hartman lives in a house in Utrecht that smells like tea and old books. She is fifty-three. On the wall near the door there is a small framed print: Het enige dat zeker is — the only thing that is certain. She notices me noticing it and shrugs. "A client gave it to me. From the hospice."

She has been a death doula — stervensbegeleider — for eleven years. Before that, she was a nurse. Before that, she says, she was "someone who ran away from things."

"My mother died in a hospital room, surrounded by people who didn't know her. Everyone was doing something. No one was just — there. I thought: this can be different."

What a death doula actually does

Most people, when they hear the word doula, think of birth. The concept is the same: a non-medical companion who supports a person and their family through a major physical and emotional threshold. A death doula does not replace the doctor, the nurse, or the uitvaartondernemer. She fills the space between them.

"I prepare people for what is coming," Inge says. "Practically — what will it look like, what will they hear, what will the body do. And emotionally. Those are often the same conversation."

She also sits vigil — staying present through the hours or days before death, relieving family members who need to sleep or eat or simply leave the room. "Families feel guilty about leaving. I tell them: go. I am here. I will call you."

The silence most families don't expect

I ask her what surprises people most. She answers immediately.

"The silence. Not the dying — the silence after. There is a moment when the breathing stops and the room is just — completely still. People don't know what to do with that. They rush to fill it. They call someone. They start making lists. And I understand why. The silence is enormous."

She pauses. "But if you can stay in it, even for a few minutes, something happens. People say afterwards that those minutes were — important. That they were glad they didn't rush."

On what people say in the last hours. "They say the names of people. They ask for their mothers, even at eighty years old. And they say thank you — often to no one in particular. Thank you for something that happened a long time ago. It is the most human thing I have ever witnessed."

On family conflict

Not every deathbed is peaceful. I ask about the difficult situations.

"Families fight. About who should be in the room. About what music to play. About whether to call a priest. About decisions made thirty years ago that suddenly surface when there is no more time. Death is very honest. It brings up everything that was not resolved."

Her job, in those moments, is not mediation. "I can't fix the family. I can only try to protect the person who is dying from the noise. Sometimes that means asking people to step out. It's a hard conversation. But the dying person comes first."

What she wishes families knew

I ask her what she would want every family in the Netherlands to understand about death. She thinks for a long time.

"That they are allowed to be there. That you don't need to be a professional to sit with someone who is dying. You just need to be present. Hold their hand. Talk to them — hearing is the last sense to go. Tell them the things you want them to hear."

"People worry they will do it wrong. There is no wrong. The wrong thing is to not be there at all."

"Hearing is the last sense to go. Talk to them. Tell them the things you want them to hear."

The moment after

What does she do in the moment after death? She smiles — a small, careful smile.

"I sit still. For a few minutes, I just sit still. And then I ask the family if they want a moment alone, or if they want me to stay. That's all. There is nothing to do in that moment. There is nothing that has to happen. Everything can wait."

"That is the thing about death that nobody tells you. There is more time than you think."

Finding a death doula in the Netherlands

The profession is not regulated — there is no formal certification required. The main network is Stichting Bardo and the VPTZ(Vrijwilligers Palliatieve Terminale Zorg), which trains and coordinates volunteer companions for people in the final phase of life. Services are often free or low-cost.

Your huisarts or a palliative care coordinator at the hospital can also refer you.