There were six of us. In nine months, we had two losses and two funerals. Our brother went first: suicide. Our dad went second: cancer, the kind that gives you years to brace yourself, then a terrible week to plan a funeral and run out of the good coffee.
We tried the normal things. Group therapy. Long walks. Lying to our mom about how we were doing. Eventually we started making jokes again, because the alternative was sitting in silence forever, and the jokes were the only thing that sounded like the two people we lost. Dead Dad Club is what came out of that: a small apparel project about grief, siblinghood, and the specific dark humor that lives in families after the worst thing happens. It’s for the people who already get it. If you don’t, congratulations, genuinely. Hopefully you never do.
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