Meet Sheri
You don't need my whole story to know if I'm a fit for you. Here's the short version: the parts that explain why I don't flinch, why I might laugh at a moment you didn't expect anyone to laugh at, and why I do this work anyway.
How I learned to sit with grief
People sometimes ask how I can hold heavy things without flinching, listen without needing to fix it, and stay steady when someone else’s world is falling apart.
Honestly, it started long before any training. I grew up a child of divorce, learning early how to navigate love that was inconsistent, confusing, or conditional. I know what it’s like to be the one left waiting, hoping to be chosen.
As I grew older, grief didn't repeat itself. It accumulated: abusive relationships, a plane crash, cancer, motherhood's thresholds, losing my dad, and the family estrangement that surfaced alongside it. Each one different. Each one asking something new of me.
None of it made me “strong.” It gave me capacity. A steadiness that isn't confidence, but familiarity. I know my edges. I know what I've survived. And I know what it costs to keep loving when the world doesn’t always love you back.
That’s why I companion the way I do, so you don’t have to carry yours alone.
Why I'm not afraid of the room at the end
Eventually, my father looked at me and said, “Once you become a doula, you can help me die,” the only way a beloved father can say it, with a mischievous smile. So I did. I supported him through Medical Assistance in Dying, alongside his hospice team. Plenty of coffee with the birds, some laughter and a bit of quiet. When he died, I was the one who prepared his body and sat with the silence after, because there weren't words for what had just happened, and there didn't need to be.
I'm telling you this so you know: when it's your turn to be in that room, I won't be new to it, and I won't need you to manage my discomfort on top of your own grief. I'm not going to tell you dying is peaceful and beautiful if it isn't. Sometimes it's serene. Sometimes it's messy and undignified and nothing like the movies. I've sat with both, and I'm not going anywhere either way.
How I show up
I don't fix people. I hold space for them. I don't rush anyone toward "better." I don't pretend to have answers. I offer presence, and I stay.
I’ll tell you the truth as I see it, even when it isn’t what you want to hear.
I've found real healing in nature and in laughter, probably more than anywhere else, and that shows up in how I work.
Some sessions are quiet. Some involve genuinely inappropriate jokes at genuinely inappropriate moments, because that's honest too.
This isn't meant to feel heavy all the time, even when the subject matter is.
I'll say "sacred" sometimes. Not in a churchy way; more a feeling than a title, something more that doesn't need defining.
I am the pendulum, always swinging a little between soft and direct, quiet and blunt. Both are true. Both are me.
The training underneath it
Lived experience is most of what shows up in the room. But there's real training underneath it too:
End-of-Life Doula certification, Doulas College
Reiki training to Master level
Living Through Loss — Grief Foundations training
Facilitator training for grief support groups
Facilitator training for caregiver support groups
Bachelor of Applied Business Administration, Accounting major, MacEwan University
Practicing bookkeeper since 2006
That last one surprises people. But a steady, organized mind matters a lot when families are drowning in paperwork, appointments, and logistics on top of everything else. I'm not your accountant or lawyer, and I'll always point you to one when that's what's actually needed.
One more thing
For years, I talked about building a space like the Dome and never did. It felt like too much, too big a risk. My father was the one who kept pushing me toward it. Near the end, he made sure I finally could. It exists because he believed in it before I fully did.
There's more to my story than fits here. If you're ever curious, ask me directly. But this is enough to know for now: I've lived through hard things, and it's part of why I can sit with yours without flinching.