The Women behind Salt & Loom

My path to this work has been guided by a lifelong commitment to service, presence, and spiritual care. As a young adult, I served at Mother Teresa’s Kalighat Home for the Dying and Destitute in India—an experience that profoundly shaped my understanding of compassion and the sacred presence essential to end-of-life care. In the years that followed, during the height of the AIDS epidemic in the United States, I worked in a hospice facility for people living with HIV and later volunteered extensively in other hospice settings.

I spent many years as a civil litigation attorney, gaining deep familiarity with corporate, healthcare, and pharmaceutical systems. That background now informs my work in end-of-life care, particularly in advance care planning and medical advocacy—helping individuals and families understand their options, clarify their values, and navigate complex decisions with confidence and care.

I offer client-centered and trauma-informed support, paying particular attention to the spiritual and existential dimensions of dying—however each person defines them. My academic training in philosophy and law shapes my approach to end-of-life care, grounding my work in thoughtful inquiry, ethical clarity, and a deep respect for each person’s story, autonomy, and dignity.

My work begins with the recognition that life is not permanent. Finite time shifts what matters: relationships, unfinished conversations, and the way we care for one another, particularly in the context of advance care planning and end-of-life care. 

My background in education, finance, communications, and event planning shapes how I approach this work. Education trained me to make complex ideas about medical advocacy and spiritual care understandable. Finance taught me to think structurally and anticipate practical realities. Communications sharpened my ability to facilitate difficult conversations around these sensitive topics. Event planning showed me how much intention and coordination shape meaningful experiences. Together, these disciplines inform my belief that end-of-life planning should be thoughtful, organized, and deeply human.

I witnessed my grandmother’s death at a young age and was not given the chance to say goodbye. That experience stayed with me. It was the first time I understood how uncomfortable people are with death — and how often families, including children, are left out of the conversation. 

From that moment on, I questioned why we avoid what is inevitable and how differently these moments might unfold if approached with honesty and respect for various cultural perspectives on doulas and end-of-life care. Over time, those questions became direction.

I bring steadiness, structure, and respect for each person’s culture, values, and pace.