My name is Danielle Roberson. I am 41 years old, a proud mother of four wonderful children, a certified death doula, and a certified caregiver. For many years, I have worked in home health care, supporting individuals and families in their most vulnerable moments. Alongside my hands-on experience, I continually invest time in education, taking courses to deepen my understanding of care, comfort, and the realities people face at the end of life. My training includes focused education in dementia and Alzheimer’s care, allowing me to support individuals with patience, clarity, and respect as needs change.

For as long as I can remember, people have come to me when things feel heavy or uncertain. I don’t enter difficult moments to fix or change anything — I sit beside others to be present, steady, and honest in a kind and supportive way.

Even as a child, I was drawn to people who were alone or nearing the end of life. When I visited my great-grandfather in assisted living, I would spend time with residents who had no one else visiting. I knew many of them would pass soon — but I also knew that before they did, someone had listened to their stories, laughed with them, and made sure they were not forgotten. Those moments shaped me. They taught me that presence matters, even when time is brief.

Over the years, it hasn’t only been those nearing death who have opened up to me. Strangers, friends, coworkers, and people I meet in everyday places have often felt comfortable sharing their stories, fears, and memories. Wherever I go, people tend to open their hearts to me — and I receive that trust with care and respect.

Spending time with people at the end of life has shown me that this season is not only about goodbye. It can also hold reflection, connection, peace, humor, honesty, and meaning. I believe no one should have to face that transition feeling afraid, unseen, or alone.

Motherhood has taught me patience, gentleness, and quiet strength. It helped me learn how to slow down, listen deeply, and remain with someone even when emotions feel fragile or overwhelming — skills that continue to guide me in both caregiving and doula work.

Over time, people have described the way I enter these moments as being like a quiet, grounded fairy who appears when she is needed most — calm, steady, and respectful of the space and the people within it. I hold that comparison with gratitude, because to me it reflects presence, softness, and care.

As a death doula, my role is to offer comfort, organization, and compassionate guidance during times that can feel uncertain or confusing. I bring both lived experience and professional caregiving knowledge into this work, offering calm and clarity while honoring the truth of what is happening — without pretending, minimizing, or turning away from reality.

I support individuals and families of all backgrounds and beliefs, respecting each person’s story, values, and way of finding meaning. When our time together comes to an end, I carry your story with care as I move forward to the next family I am called to support.

Reachable Pathways was created because I have always felt called to this work — from childhood visits in quiet hallways, to years of caregiving, to the many lives I have walked beside as an adult. I know I belong in this place and in this time, supporting others, even if our journey together is brief. This work is more than a profession to me — it is my calling and my purpose, and I am honored to serve with empathy, honesty, and heart.

Why I Do This Work

I do this work because loneliness doesn’t only happen at the end of life  it happens in everyday living. I know what it feels like to move through life feeling unseen, to help others while struggling to care for myself, to crave support, guidance, and simple companionship. I live with that feeling of loneliness, and because of that, I never want anyone else to experience it  not in ordinary days, and certainly not at the end of life.

When I show up for someone, my role is presence, awareness, and grounding. I don’t just walk into a situation and react to emotion I slow down and assess the whole environment. I look at what’s happening in the space, in the atmosphere, in the family dynamic, and in the small details that may be contributing to fear or distress. Logic and caregiving go hand-in-hand. Sometimes what looks like emotional crisis is really overwhelm, disruption, or loss of control in someone’s daily world.

One evening I arrived to sit with a client who was crying and said, “I just want to die… but I don’t want to die.” Instead of assuming the fear was about death, I looked around and noticed what had changed — her refrigerator had broken, everything in her home had been moved around, and she was “nesting,” trying to restore order so she could feel safe again. The chaos in her space was triggering stress, fear, and emotional collapse.

I hugged her and said, “We can’t fix everything at once — but we can fix one thing right now.” Her son had ordered a new fridge, so I moved the old one out, helped clean the space, and made a plan for the next day. I came back, we finished organizing, and by evening she was calm, laughing, and talking again. Death was no longer part of the conversation — because the real problem had been addressed.

Moments like that are why I do this work. The people I support are not just clients  they are individuals with unique emotional needs, patterns, fears, histories, and environments. No two people experience life — or loneliness — the same way. My calling is to notice what others overlook, to steady the space around someone so their heart can settle.

If I’m not the right fit for someone, that’s okay. But for the people who trust me to walk beside them, I show up fully with compassion, intuition, practicality, and presence. I want people to feel that when I arrive, they don’t have to carry everything alone.

No one should have to experience everyday loneliness and certainly not the end of life without someone beside them who truly sees them.