As a death doula, someone who supports people through the dying process, I’ve walked beside many people during their final chapters. Some deaths were peaceful, tethered to clarity and intention. Others were messy — complicated by silence, misunderstanding, or the weight of decisions no one was prepared to make.

One of the most critical decisions a person can make — long before they’re sick or dying — is choosing their health care proxy. Why? Because when you are no longer able to speak for yourself, your health care proxy becomes your voice. They hold the power to ensure your wishes are known, respected, and followed. If the medical world becomes a maze of urgent turns and flashing alarms, your proxy is the person holding the map and calmly guiding the way to your chosen exit. Having someone who can advocate on your behalf is not just a legal formality — it’s an act of profound care.

Over the years, my clients have taught me so much about what makes a proxy the right person. Not just the most obvious choice. Not just the closest blood relative. But the person who can carry your truth when it matters most.

I’m sharing a few of their stories here — with names and identifying details changed to protect their privacy. As death doulas, confidentiality is sacred. We are entrusted with our clients’ final thoughts, fears, and truths. That trust forms the foundation of our work, and honoring it means carrying their stories with reverence — not exposure.

Here are four clients who, in very different ways, helped me understand just how much this one decision can shape everything that follows.

Client One: Loretta

Loretta was the kind of woman who could walk into a room and make you feel like you’d been prayed for, even if you didn’t believe in anything. She was a retired school counselor, deeply loved, and very clear about what she did — and didn’t — want at the end of her life.

She chose her eldest daughter as her health care proxy. “She’s the strong one,” Loretta said. “She doesn’t cry in public.”

But when the time came, her daughter shut down. Couldn’t answer questions. Deferred everything to the doctors. “Mama wouldn’t want to suffer,” she whispered, but couldn’t bring herself to say what that meant in real terms.

It was her youngest son, the one she didn’t name in the documents, who remembered Loretta’s wishes. The one who brought out the yellow notepad she kept in the kitchen drawer. “Let her go home,” he said. “She always said she didn’t want to die in a hospital.”

Loretta’s story taught me this: strength is not stoicism. The right proxy is someone who can stay rooted when emotions rise — who can speak your truth, not theirs.

Client Two: Daniel

Daniel had stage IV cancer and a mind like a whip. He read everything. He asked questions in three languages. He wanted to know every possibility and then some.

“I don’t want anyone making decisions based on fear,” he told me. “Not theirs. Not mine.”

Daniel chose his childhood best friend, Reggie, as his health care proxy — not his partner, not his sister. “Reggie’s a pragmatist,” he said. “He’ll ask the hard questions. He’s not afraid of the word ‘die.’”

And Daniel was right. When things got complicated — when the treatment options turned to long shots and side effects — Reggie listened. He took notes. He asked, “What would Daniel say?” every time a new decision came up. He kept a list in his phone of Daniel’s wishes, sorted by category: pain, breathing, visitors, music, interventions.

Daniel’s story taught me this: the right proxy prepares. They don’t guess. They don’t wing it. They listen long before they have to speak for you.

Client Three: Marlene

Marlene had outlived two husbands and three strokes. When I met her, she was full of laughter and completely unfiltered. “I want to go out like the old ladies in the movies,” she said. “Lipstick on, jazz in the background.”

She picked her niece to be her proxy because, as she put it, “She’s the only one who doesn’t treat me like I’m made of glass.”

It turned out to be the perfect choice. Her niece was practical, warm, and unafraid to challenge doctors and me. “My aunt is done with aggressive anything,” she said during a tense hospital conversation. “She wants comfort, dignity, and Billie Holiday.”

Marlene got just that. A hospice bed by the window. Big earrings. Records playing. She died with her niece holding her hand, narrating old family gossip.

Marlene’s story taught me this: pick someone who isn’t afraid to advocate. Someone who can say, “This is about honoring the way they wanted to live, all the way through.”

Client Four: Rashad

Rashad lived with heart failure and an unapologetically full life. He wrote poetry, made terrible coffee, and believed in second chances. But when it came to planning for death, he dragged his feet.

Eventually, he chose his older brother as his proxy. “He’s family,” Rashad shrugged. “It just makes sense.”

But when Rashad became unresponsive, his brother panicked. He kept asking, “What if there’s still hope?” even though Rashad had said — repeatedly — he didn’t want machines. No tubes. No drawn-out pain.

It was his ex-boyfriend, Marcus, who called me. “He told me once — after a show — that he’d want words, not beeping. Do you think I could read to him?”

He sat beside Rashad for hours, reading Baldwin and Neruda. Whispering truths. The machines were there, yes, but so was Marcus — grounding the room in love and memory.

Rashad’s story taught me this: proximity doesn’t equal understanding. Choose someone who sees you. Not just who you are, but who you’re trying to become — even as you leave.

So what does this mean for you?

It means choosing a health care proxy isn’t just a checkbox on a form. It’s a reflection of your values, your voice, your vision of dignity.

Choose someone who:

• Listens without inserting their own fears.
• Asks questions and takes notes.
• Can handle tough conversations.
• Knows when to speak up — and when to let go.
• Respects your wishes even when they don’t align with their own.

And most of all, someone who sees you.

That’s the kind of love we all deserve at the end.

Darnell Lamont Walker is a death doula and writer, a bridge guiding individuals and communities through grief, toward healing, meaning, and whatever joy remains. Also an Emmy-nominated children’s television writer (Work It Out Wombats!, Karma’s World, Blue’s Clues & You), he believes storytelling—whether for children or those facing life’s hardest transitions—is a path to connection, safety, and belonging. His upcoming book, Never Can Say Goodbye (Harper One), explores his experiences as a death doula, offering insight into loss, love, and the ways we find our way forward. Through words and witness, he helps others honor their stories, navigate the in-between, and embrace what comes next.

You might be interested in: Your Guide To Choosing a Health Care Proxy and Your Guide to Being a Health Care Proxy