“In June 2016, my life was in full gear.”

My husband and I, along with our two kids, were in our small Brooklyn home, knee-deep in cardboard boxes. We’d decided to move back to Dublin, a choice driven by many factors, including being closer to my mother, who had been struggling with dementia. With only six days left until we’d be on a plane home, the phone rang. It was my brother, calling with the news that Mum had passed away.

The days that followed were some of the hardest of my life. While her passing wasn’t entirely unexpected, the timing was heartbreaking—six days before I could see her again. Suddenly, amidst the packing, I found myself arranging a funeral from afar instead of a long-awaited homecoming.

My mother, Elizabeth Ozmin, was remarkable. She was ahead of her time in so many ways: a working architect, she had a way of blending the unconventional with the practical. In the 80s, she was driving a bright yellow Renault 4 and feeding us hummus long before it was trendy. Her love for architecture showed in her work restoring historic places like Salisbury Cathedral. She was an opinionated, compassionate, and creative force, and we wanted her farewell to reflect that.

“Why was it so hard to celebrate the life of a loved one in a way that felt truly them?”

When it came time to make funeral arrangements, we turned to a compassionate funeral home that guided us through the process. They showed us casket options, most of which were traditionally dark, heavy, and ornate. Mum, I knew, would not have appreciated the polished oak and brass handles that felt distant from her personality. We eventually found a simple, light wicker casket with natural textures, something that felt closer to who she was—unique and warm.

“Funerals are universal; they’re a part of life that touches every one of us. So, why was there so little innovation or personalisation?”

Arriving in Dublin, we held her wake at home, arranging wildflowers from her garden around her. The moment felt bittersweet but meaningful. When it came time to create a service pamphlet, something close to my heart as a graphic designer, I was too drained to take it on. The funeral home put something together for us, and while it was thoughtful, it didn’t quite capture the spirit of Mum. It struck me that, while there are countless ways to make a wedding deeply personal, funeral stationery felt a bit limited. I wondered why our farewells couldn’t reflect the same joy and individuality.

As I continued to attend other funerals over the years, I saw the same aesthetic choices, the same somber tones. It seemed like funerals, unlike so many other aspects of life, hadn’t changed in over a century. While there’s a place for tradition, why couldn’t we celebrate someone’s life with designs and details that felt truly them?

This question stayed with me. Funerals are universal; they’re a part of life that touches every one of us. So, why was there so little innovation or personalization? In a visual culture that values individuality, it seemed like the world of memorials was still holding onto conventions that didn’t resonate with everyone.

“Our goal is to help families honour their loved ones in a way that feels right for them—unique, modern, and beautifully designed.”

And so, Dearly was born. Our goal is to help families honour their loved ones in a way that feels right for them—unique, modern, and beautifully designed. We work with funeral homes and coordinators to offer meaningful, high-quality products that celebrate life as much as they honour loss. Because every life deserves to be remembered, not just with reverence, but with authenticity, warmth, and even joy.

— Kasia Ozmin