Grief is a part of life, yet it is almost universally treated like a topic that needs to be handled with oven mitts and hushed voices. We see someone hurting, we want to help, but we freeze. We worry about saying the wrong thing, so we end up saying nothing at all.

I know this feeling well. I also know that there is a better way to show up for the people we care about.

 

The Accidental Expert

My journey into this space began at 23, when I landed a temp job at a cemetery. The agency was suspiciously vague, "just an office job, answering phones", but when I arrived on my first day, I pulled up and parked directly in front of a headstone.

I thought I was prepared for the work. I had grown up around grief and personal loss, so I figured I was practically a professional. I was wrong. For the first two weeks, I cried every single day, for the moms who passed away leaving teenagers behind, for the sons lost on Christmas Eve, for the police officers who never made it home.

But I also learned something transformative: I saw people showing up for each other. I worked alongside counselors, grounds crews, and crematory operators who knew how to sit with a grieving family, reassure them, and sometimes even make them laugh. I learned that grief comes in every shape, weight, and size, and none of it is wrong.

 

The Corporate Contrast

After two years at the cemetery, I moved into manufacturing and later the aerospace industry. The environment was a stark contrast to what I had witnessed previously. When a coworker experienced a major tragedy- losing a son, a spouse, or facing a medical crisis- the office would collectively freeze.

I watched people agonize over whether to say something, eventually deciding that they had "missed the window", and doing nothing. I saw companies send funeral flowers to families before anyone had even passed away, simply because they didn't know what else to do. I felt an immense sense of helplessness watching one person grieve and the rest of the team awkwardly stand by, wishing they knew how to help.

 

The Birth of Deathday Cards

That helplessness was the catalyst for Deathday Cards. As a lifelong lover of greeting cards, I knew that a simple token could solve this problem. But the cards available in stores weren't working. They were either overly sentimental, religious, or one-size-fits-all platitudes that didn't actually fit the reality of grief.

I wanted to create cards that offered a way back in, whether it’s been two weeks or two years. I wanted cards for the random Tuesday when grief hits out of nowhere, for the first holiday with an empty chair, and for the anniversaries everyone else forgets. I wanted cards that were honest, sometimes funny, and always human.

I showed my first prototypes to a few close friends who raved and encouraged me to keep going.  Then began a long journey of test prints, printer research, and finally finding a local shop willing to accommodate my small operation. Finally, I received my first batch of ten cards with my own designs in February 2026.

 

The Vision

My mission is simple: to expand our comfort zones around death and grief. I want to build a world where, the next time someone experiences a loss, people rally instead of retreat.

We don't need "perfect" words. We just need to stop letting the fear of the awkward moment prevent us from connecting. By offering cards that are honest and thoughtful, I hope to make it easier for all of us, regardless of our traditional or non-traditional lives, to show up for the people who need it most.