Why I Became a Pet End-of-Life Doula (And What It Means for My Clients)
“Death ends a life, not a relationship.”
I've been thinking about how to write this post for a little while now. It touches on something personal — not just about my art, but about the kind of artist and human being I want to be.
If you've commissioned a portrait from me, or if you've followed my work for any length of time, you may have noticed something: most of what I paint is in memory of someone. A dog who was a family's entire heart. A cat who chose one person and never wavered. A rabbit, a horse, a guinea pig — beloved in ways that the world doesn't always take seriously, but that the people who loved them knew were completely real.
About 80% of my commissions are memorial portraits. That number surprised me when I first sat down and really looked at it. But once I did, I understood something important: the most meaningful work I do isn't just painting. It's holding space for those who need it.
The Decision to Enroll
Earlier this year, I enrolled in UVM's Companion Animal End-of-Life Doula professional certificate program. It's a six-week course, and I'll be honest — it was emotionally challenging from the very first week. The program covers pet loss and grief, palliative care, the human-animal bond, and much more. There are subjects in there that are difficult to sit with, but that I believe every person who works closely with grieving pet owners should understand.
I completed the program, and I'm proud of that. Not because a certificate changes what I can do with pastels and a panel. But because it changed how I listen.
What Grief Around Pet Loss Actually Looks Like
One of the most important things the program reinforced for me is something I had already suspected from years of working with bereaved clients: pet loss is real grief. Full stop. It is not a lesser version of grief, not something to move past quickly, not something to minimize with phrases like "it was just a dog" or "you can always get another cat."
For many people, a pet is their closest companion. Their daily routine, their reason to come home, their anchor. When that relationship ends, the loss can be devastating — and it often goes unacknowledged by the people around them, which only makes it harder.
As someone who receives these clients at one of the most tender moments in their lives, I take that responsibility seriously.
What This Means When You Commission a Portrait
When a grieving client reaches out to me, they're not just asking for a painting. They're trusting me with the image of someone they loved. They are, in many ways, asking me to help keep that love visible.
The doula training has given me better language, better listening skills, and a deeper understanding of what someone in grief actually needs — and what they don't. It's helped me ask better questions, give more space, and understand that the process of creating a memorial portrait can itself be part of healing.
I'm careful with the photos clients send me. I'm careful with the details they share — the funny habits, the favorite spots, the small things only the people who loved that animal would know. Those details matter. They make their way into the painting, even when you can't see them directly.
This is sweet “Molly” who passed away in February 2025 and is missed very much by her pet parent/guardian, Audrey. Her white muzzle gently spoke of a long, well‑lived life, full of quiet joys and steadfast companionship.
Pastel on Panel
A Note to Anyone Who Is Grieving
If you've recently lost a pet and you're here because you're wondering whether a portrait might bring some comfort — I think it can. I've seen it. But I also want you to know that there is no rush. You can reach out when you're ready. If you have questions, you can always get in touch — even just to talk through what a commission process looks like, with no pressure at all.
The portrait will be here when you're ready. And so will I.
