An End-of-Life Companion
Daughter Rosa Salazar remembers the devotion her parents Beatríz and Anastacio shared until their last moments together. The couple from Zacatecas, Mexico had been married for 70 years and shared 10 children. Her father took care of her, until he took a serious fall and passed away two days later.
“Atenderla como si fuera para lo único que mi papá existía”, Rosa said.
Beatríz stopped speaking when Anastacio died in 2022. But she found a peaceful companion in Sandi Bianchi, who chatted with the widow in Spanish and read books to her aloud. As Beatríz neared the end of her own life, Bianchi prepared her cafecita with breakfast, painted her nails and made her photo albums.
“Sandi fue una maravilla en la vida de mi mamá, un apoyo inmenso para nosotros”, Rosa said.
Bianchi is a death doula — or una guía del fin de vida – who supported the Salazar family through the passings of both Beatríz and Anastacio. Though the couple had dreamed of returning to Mexico to die, their children were here, in Chicago and Lawrence, Kansas. Rosa hired Bianchi to make the end-of-life experience in the U.S. feel less foreign for her parents.
Death doulas provide social, emotional and spiritual care to those nearing death, often in the comfort of their own homes; they are dedicated to ensuring people’s last moments are enveloped in companionship and peace.
During the pandemic, national enrollment in death doula organizations and training programs increased significantly. The National End-of-Life Doula Alliance, for example, grew from 200 members in 2019 to 1,650 members in 2023, according to the nonprofit’s annual reports.
Bianchi’s own Mexican background informs her work with Latinos and other end-of-life patients in Chicago, where she is a member of the Chicago Death Doula Collective. As she bridges people to the other side, Bianchi also acts as a bridge between the traditions she learned as a young girl in Casacuarán, Guanajuato and the American death culture she has observed in her adult life.
Death Work Rooted in Mexican Tradition

Bianchi became acquainted with death during her childhood summers in Casacuarán, Mexico. Here, she absorbed the art of preparing home funerals from her grandmother, who was la curandera del pueblo, or the village healer.
“Si alguien muere en la noche, toda la noche vienen las familias, amistades”, Bianchi explained. “Todos saben lo que se necesita hacer”.
In Casacuarán, everyone had a role in the ceremony, even children. Bianchi would carry the pitcher of holy water for her grandmother. Then, la curandera would show the family of the dead how to clean the body and change the clothes. After praying all night, the group would carry the casket to the church, and finally to la panteón.
Bianchi characterized home funerals as communal events: “Todos duelen juntos, todos ríen juntos y todos aprenden en celebrar y no olvidar la persona”.
When she returned to the U.S., Bianchi discovered a different approach to the end of life: “Es bien solitario, especialmente en una ciudad grande como Chicago”, she said.
As an adult, Bianchi countered this solitary cultural experience while volunteering at Swedish Hospital in Chicago. On these floors, she always sought end-of-life patients who were lonely and afraid, even though many spoke no English or Spanish.
“No necesitas el lenguaje para tú enseñarle a otra persona que tú estás ahí, que ellos no están solos”, Bianchi said.
She was inspired to pursue individual work with families, starting with Mexicans, and then expanded to serve other Latin Americans. She wanted to provide support rooted in the cultural customs she had observed as a child.
“Yo no soy enfermera, no soy doctora”, Bianchi affirmed. “Pero si sus padres no quieren morir en hospital y quieren morir en casa, yo soy mexicana, yo aprendí, yo miré a mi a mi abuela, yo sé las costumbres rituales de cómo se hacen en México, y si quieren, yo les ayudo.”
Bianchi said her mission is a holistic one; sometimes it simply means preparing meals familiar to immigrants and their families.
“Mirando a muchos inmigrantes que les dan Jello, pudding, sopa que no tiene sabor y no comen”, Bianchi described of the hospital diet. “Y los ponen más deprimidos. Eso no es dignidad.”
By cooking Mexican food, Bianchi aims to give some of that dignity back to individuals nearing death at home.
Bianchi charges families for her service on a sliding scale; anywhere from $25-$40 per hour in one instance.
“I ask them what their budget is, and I give them a range, and then we adjust and I always tell them, ‘this is not set in stone,’” she said. In the future, she hopes the Chicago Death Doula Collective can raise enough funds to offer free care for families in need.
Raising Death Awareness through Chicago Collective
Home funerals, like the ones Bianchi experienced in Casacuarán, are not common in the United States. However, on November 10, the Chicago Death Doula Collective hosted its first mock home funeral presentation, aiming to build awareness around the practice. Patrice Horton, a mortuary student and board member of the collective, taught 20 community participants at ChiYoga Shack how to wash, shroud and safely preserve a body.
In Illinois, home funerals are legal as long as a funeral director is present to file the death certificate and issue a permit for the transportation of the body after the home ceremony. This option is often more affordable and personal, Bianchi said.
“If people think that they have to have a funeral in a funeral home [in] a traditional way…that’s all they will do,” Horton said. “But if they know there’s other options available, then you’re giving them the right to make a choice.”
The collective, a group of nine Chicago-based professionals advocating for more inclusive death care and education, also holds twice monthly Death Cafés. These conversations about death, dying and grief are hosted by collective president Alejandro Salinas, a Chicago native and first-generation Mexican American. Salinas is committed to creating a sense of acceptance, rather than resistance, toward death and grieving, and to do so preemptively.
“A lot of it is increasing the general emotional intelligence of a community, of a population,” Salinas said.
After the passing of both her parents, Rosa Salazar encouraged all people to reflect on death earlier than they may think necessary.
“I think it is important for people to really have an idea of what they want and have something prepared ahead of time, because it is very complicated to try to do it once the situation is already there,” she said.
A Death Doula’s Blessing
Bianchi had anticipated everything Rosa and her siblings had not prepared for. Bianchi drew up power of attorney forms. She fought for the family’s right to remain with their parents’ bodies, even when the police arrived to collect them.
La guía del fin de vida even thought to personalize her blessing, incorporating the family’s love of mariachi as she sat with Anastacio Salazar in his Chicago home and guided him to the end of his life in Spanish.
“Ahí están esperándote”, Bianchi soothed. “Los miras. Miras la fiesta que tienen. Escuchas el mariachi, los ángeles tocando mariachi”.
In those final moments, Anastacio’s jaw dropped open in a smile and he held Bianchi’s hand tight.
Cover Photo: Sandi Bianchi is a local death doula with roots in Casacuarán, Mexico. (Credit: Sandi Bianchi)
Josie Halporn is a fourth-year journalism student at Northwestern University. She is originally
from Boston, MA, and also studies psychology and Portuguese.
Zella Milfred is a fourth-year undergraduate student studying journalism and environmental policy at Northwestern University. Previously she has served as an editorial intern at Madison Magazine in Madison, WI.