Giving a family something worthy of the person they lost.
Somebody hands you a template at the worst moment of your life and tells you it’ll do.
Context
The Order of Service is the only object every single person at a funeral is handed. It goes into a coat pocket, a drawer, a memory box. People find them again years later. Almost nobody designs it as though that’s true.
Challenge
The people who need this most are the least able to do it. A family three days into the worst week of their life can’t learn software, and a funeral director can’t absorb design work on top of everything else.
Approach
No blank canvas anywhere. The family answers plain questions about the person, and June builds the booklet in front of them. The funeral director approves before it prints.
Not a brochure site. A working platform.
A family-facing builder that generates a print-ready booklet from plain questions, a funeral director portal for review and approval, and an admin system behind it all: marketing, sales pipeline and SEO run as their own panels, not an afterthought.
Payment through Stripe, print fulfilment through Gelato, transactional email through Resend. Answer the questions, approve the proof, and the booklet is at the printer without anyone touching a design file in between.
A funeral director told me a design named after its cause would read, to a grieving family, as a label for how their person died. She was right.I took the causes off the selection screen entirely. She was never going to buy anything from me. That’s not what feedback is for.
Identity before aesthetics.
Clarity before visibility.
For you
Building something people will reach for at the worst moment of their life?
The design problem isn’t making it look nice. It’s making somebody feel that a person was involved rather than a system. That’s slower than it sounds, and most of the work happens before anything gets drawn.
I built June because I couldn’t find anybody doing this properly. If your product sits somewhere similarly sensitive, it’s the work I most want.
