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I buried my brother 3 years ago and I'm more and more pissed every day. Don't tell me I should be at peace. I'm not going to be at peace. His name was James and he was 24. He was the funniest person in our family. He played guitar. He was a high school chemistry teacher and his students cried at his funeral for 2 hours straight. People keep telling me grief comes in stages and that I'll get to acceptance eventually. Acceptance is what gets people to stop talking about it. Acceptance is what makes everyone act like the world goes back to normal. But the world does not go back to normal. The world should have stayed broken. James is supposed to be 27 right now. He is supposed to be at our family Thanksgiving and rolling his eyes at our dad's jokes and texting me at 11pm because he can't sleep. He is not. And someone, somewhere, is missing the same thing I'm missing because we keep pretending this is a private problem instead of the thing that is killing our families. I'm not done being pissed. I get more pissed every day. So I made a decision after we buried him. I will not stand by and let this happen to another family. Not on my watch. Not while I have a body that walks around in public every day. Not while I have a back that strangers look at when they're standing behind me in line. I was in New York City last summer for work. I was at a coffee cart in Midtown. The woman in front of me was wearing a black hoodie. The back said "Dear person behind me, the world is a better place with you in it. Love, the person in front of you." I read it 3 times. Then I read it again. I thought about how many strangers walked behind that woman every day in a city of 8 million people. I thought about how many of those strangers were having the worst day of their life. I thought about how many of them might be on the same edge James was on 3 years ago. And I thought about how many of them read what was on her back. I went home to California that night and I ordered everything they had. A hoodie, a zip-up, and a t-shirt. I live in Sacramento. It is 95 degrees here for half the year. A hoodie is not always an option. So I wear the t-shirt almost every day. Walking the dog. The grocery store. Pickup at my kid's school. I wear it because I refuse to let a single hot day pass without that message walking around behind me. I have been stopped 27 times in 11 months. Strangers from 15 to 70+, men and women, people I will never see again. None of them knew my brother and none of them needed to. The brand is called DearPersonCo. They donate a portion of every sale to mental health organizations. They have hoodies, zip-ups, crewnecks, and t-shirts in 17 colors and extended sizes. Their biggest sale of the year is on right now. Everything is up to 65% off sitewide. I will not stand by while this keeps happening to other people's loved ones. Not on my watch. If you have buried someone you love and you are not done being pissed, you can wear it with me. https://dearpersonco.store/