Dancing through life, I have regrets that I didn’t spend more time with people who died in my ‘20s and ‘30s:  my mom, my beloved grandmother — who first showed me unconditional love — and my many, many friends who died of AIDs in the 1980s.  A high-powered career and the blur of too much fun with substances kept me looking forward instead of around.

My C-suite career lasted, but in these last five years, it stopped being enough. I lost my soul partner in two and a half weeks — from diagnosis to gone. That same year, the second mother to my children died. It became the most profound passage of my life — and suddenly, strategic planning felt like it belonged to a different world entirely.

Something else has been calling.  Death work had my name on it – partly because I’m organized enough to help people during times of grief and fear, and partly because I’ve been sitting with loss enough to know what people actually need when they’re in it.  

What I know now is that getting things done
is its own kind of love.

Preparation is a way of saying you matter enough for me to have thought about this. You matter enough to have written down what you want, where your record collection goes, and who gets the diaries.

Sanctuary is what I built for that. It's for the death-curious and the death-anxious, for anyone who has ever thought "I really should deal with this" and then put it off for another three years. I will help you deal with it. I will not make it weird. I will probably make you laugh.

I work on a deeply inclusive basis. I love to work with LGBTQ+ individuals and chosen families, with people in recovery and those who love them, and with anyone who has ever felt that the end of life deserved more honesty, more care, and more justice than they were given. I offer sliding scale fees because this work should not be a luxury.

I am based in Washington, DC. I would love to meet you.