Finding My Tribe: What I Learned Training with Final Exit Network Volunteers

They came from many different paths.

Among the twenty people gathered in Chicago for Final Exit Network (FEN) volunteer training were professionals and retirees, caregivers and advocates, people shaped by medicine, law, education, faith, and lived experience. Different ages. Different backgrounds. Different stories.

But they were united by one shared calling: helping people understand and access their end‑of‑life choices.

As FEN’s new executive director, I joined the training not only to deepen my understanding of our programs, but to better understand the people who make this work possible. I wanted to know who feels called to step into one of the most complex and misunderstood spaces in our culture. Who chooses to travel across the country to educate strangers about end‑of‑life autonomy. Who is willing to sit with suffering, uncertainty, and hope—and not look away.

What I discovered was extraordinary.

FEN volunteers are thoughtful, courageous, and deeply compassionate people. Nearly everyone in the room carried a story—often one forged in loss.

Many had witnessed what so many of us eventually encounter: the injustice of a “bad death.” They had watched loved ones endure prolonged suffering. They had felt the helplessness of navigating a system that offers limited options when facing devastating diagnoses or irreversible decline. They had seen how fear can overtake people at the end of life when the path forward looks long, painful, and uncertain.

They came to Final Exit Network because they believe people deserve better.

They came eager to understand how FEN helps fill the gaps that still exist in our healthcare and legal systems—gaps that leave too many people without meaningful agency at the end of life. And they came ready to serve, knowing that this work requires steadiness, discernment, and profound respect for human dignity.

While FEN volunteers unquestionably change lives, something else happens too: the work changes them.

“I’ve found my tribe,” is a phrase we hear often from volunteers.

There is something powerful about being in community with others who are willing to engage openly with life’s final chapter. People who believe compassion, dignity, and autonomy should extend all the way to the end. People who are not afraid of difficult conversations—or of sitting in silence when words fall short.

Working in this space strips away pretense. It invites honesty. It asks us to confront our own mortality, values, and fears. And in doing so, it often brings unexpected clarity about how we want to live.

Our culture tends to avoid talking about death, especially when it involves choice. Yet avoiding these conversations does not protect us—it leaves people isolated when they need connection most.

When death is chosen thoughtfully and supported with compassion, it looks very different from suicide as our society commonly understands it. Suicide is often impulsive, secretive, and traumatic for those left behind.

In contrast, when people facing unbearable suffering are able to plan the end of their lives, share their wishes openly, and say goodbye surrounded by care and presence, the experience can be peaceful, meaningful, and deeply human.

Helping someone fulfill their final wishes in this way is an extraordinary gift. For the individual. For their loved ones. And for the volunteers who stand beside them—not to direct or persuade, but to inform, support, and honor autonomy.

The philosopher Simone de Beauvoir once wrote:

FEN volunteers live this truth.

They help create compassionate community around something our culture often fears and misunderstands. They show up where silence too often prevails. And in doing so, they help transform how we think about death—not as failure or taboo, but as a part of life deserving care, dignity, and respect.

I am deeply grateful for the remarkable volunteers of Final Exit Network. Their courage, commitment, and humanity make our mission possible.

Volunteering with FEN supports choice in dying.

But it also offers something just as meaningful: a profound way of choosing how to live.