As a private investigator, my work alongside families affected by homicide has permanently changed how I understand loss. It is not abstract. It is not theoretical. It is personal, ongoing, and often complicated by systems that move on long before families are ready.
In homicide cases, death is sudden and violent. There is no time to prepare. Families are forced to make decisions while still in shock. I have watched parents sit across from investigators, coroners, and court systems while trying to process the unimaginable. Long after the headlines fade and court dates pass, grief remains. It settles into daily life.
Working with these families taught me that what happens after death matters deeply. The way a loved one is handled. The care taken with their remains. The respect shown in small details. These moments are not logistical. They are emotional anchors. Families remember them.
I have seen how often memorial decisions are rushed or treated as transactions. Many families are offered generic options during the most vulnerable hours of their lives. They accept what is available, not what feels right, because there is no space to pause. Over time, some regret that their loved one’s final resting place did not reflect the care, permanence, or individuality they deserved.
That reality stayed with me.
As a partner to this business, selling urns is not a pivot away from ending my career as a private investigator. I continue to work with these difficult cases. Rather, this business is an extension of it. After years of witnessing loss up close, I wanted to offer something that slows the process down rather than hurries it. Something that treats memorialization as an act of respect, not a checkbox.
An urn is not just a container. It holds the remains of a person who was loved, argued with, laughed with, and missed. For families affected by violent loss, that weight matters. The urn becomes one of the few physical points of control they have left. Choosing it thoughtfully can restore a small sense of agency in a situation where so much was taken without consent.
My experience as an investigator reinforced the importance of permanence and care. Many families want something substantial. Something that feels steady. Something that does not feel temporary or disposable. That understanding is what led me to focus on durable, well-crafted urns made from real materials, created to last and to be handled with respect.
This work is not about commerce for me. It is about responsibility. When you have sat with families who carry grief for decades, you understand that memorial choices echo far beyond the moment they are made. Offering urns is my way of honoring what those families have taught me: that dignity does not end at death, and care should never be rushed.
Every life deserves to be remembered with intention. Every family deserves the space to choose something that feels right.
