Designing for Death: A UX Guide for End-of-Life Products
Lessons from building a planning app for North America’s largest funeral provider.
“When there are no right words, design becomes the language of care.”
Grief, Design, and the Work That Finds You
My journey as a designer took an unexpected and deeply personal turn when I became the caregiver for my fiancé during her final months of life. Around the same time, I was asked to help design a digital planning tool for Dignity Memorial, North America’s largest provider of funeral, cremation, and cemetery services. It was a bizarre set of circumstances that led me to this project, but I was drawn to the challenge as it seemed so relevant to what I was going through.
I want to share that experience, not because it was difficult (though it was), but because it changed how I understand the purpose of design. Because designing for death reshapes everything you think you know about clarity, care, and what users truly need.
In this piece, I’ll walk through both the strategic and human dimensions of the project: the UX principles we leaned on, the emotional realities we had to account for, and the decisions we made to create something calm, meaningful, and respectful. It’s part case study, part personal reflection, and hopefully, a useful guide for anyone designing in emotionally complex spaces.
The Strategy
We weren’t just building a tool to capture logistics. We were guiding someone through one of the hardest decisions of their life. We designed for clarity and care, not efficiency.
Guiding strategy principles:
- Design for emotional bandwidth. Grieving users have limited attention. Prioritize clarity over speed.
- Minimize emotional landmines. Avoid reminders tied to the deceased. Be thoughtful with notifications.
- Use visual calm. A restrained palette and generous spacing create stability and seriousness.
- Allow pausing and revisiting. Grief is nonlinear. People need freedom to stop and come back.
- Provide meaningful defaults. Templates reduce decision fatigue and give users a place to start.
- Design for cultural flexibility. Avoid Western-centric assumptions. Test with diverse users.
- Support the helpers. Make assisted planning roles clear and easy to use.
- Validate emotions in copy. Gentle prompts like “Take your time” can offer real comfort.
- Build for trust. Let users control who sees what. Use plain language. Explain everything.
- Honor the outcome. Every action should reflect the emotional weight of what is being created.
Features That Create Meaning
We weren’t just building features — we were building trust. Every decision had to serve the emotional context of end-of-life planning. Here’s how the core elements of the tool aligned with our strategic principles:
1. Step-by-Step Planning Flow
- Why it mattered: Grief kills attention span. People don’t want a dashboard; they want a guide.
- What we did: One question per screen. Clear next steps. A soft, unobtrusive progress indicator. No pressure to finish — just a calm presence guiding you through.
2. Timeline Visualization
- Why it mattered: Traditional forms feel cold. This is a plan for a person’s final moments. It should feel human.
- What we did: After completing their plan, users saw it rendered as a chronological sequence of events — like a storyboard for a ceremony. Visual calm. Emotional clarity.
3. Personal Touches
- Why it mattered: This isn’t just paperwork. It’s a legacy.
- What we did: Users could add affiliations (faith, military service), preferred readings, and even music. These weren’t just “extras” — they made the plan feel like theirs.
4. Assisted Planning Mode
- Why it mattered: Often, the user isn’t planning their own arrangements — they’re helping someone else.
- What we did: A clear “I’m helping someone else” path with language and UI that shifts accordingly. No awkward workarounds. No guessing who the user really is.
5. Share and Print Options
- Why it mattered: The end of life still happens offline. Families need something they can hold.
- What we did: Every plan could be saved, printed, or shared with funeral professionals. The output was designed to feel respectful — clean, readable, and ceremonial.
6. Defaults That Guide, Not Dictate
- Why it mattered: Blank slates create panic. In grief, no one wants to start from zero.
- What we did: Pre-filled templates and example content helped users begin. These weren’t rigid — just starting points that made the blank page less scary.
7. Language That Cares
- Why it mattered: Words are often the only signal of empathy in a digital experience.
- What we did: We rewrote every label, message, and prompt to be human, not clinical. “Take your time” replaced “Next.” “You can update this later” replaced “Submit.”
8. Privacy and Control Settings
- Why it mattered: People are entrusting you with their final wishes. That trust is fragile.
- What we did: Clear options for what gets shared, with whom, and when. Everything was transparent. We treated user intent as sacred — even posthumously.
9. Cultural Flexibility
- Why it mattered: Death isn’t universal in how it’s experienced or expressed.
- What we did: We avoided assumptions. Left room for personalization. And tested with users from different cultural and faith backgrounds to make sure we weren’t building in bias. Colors played a key part in this exercise, which I’ve outlined below:
What I Learned
This project came during the most difficult chapter of my life. My fiancé was in her final stages of life. I was her caregiver. And I was designing a product for people in my exact situation.
I wasn’t designing for a “user.” I was designing for me. And for everyone like me.
What Changed For Me
- Design becomes real when it mirrors your life.
- Empathy isn’t a UX buzzword. It’s the foundation.
- Emotional labor is part of the job.
- You design better when you stop pretending to be neutral.
- There is no universal user. Grief shows up differently for everyone.
- Language heals or harms. One sentence can either soothe or sting.
- Good UX is invisible. Great UX is emotionally intelligent.
- Design for the person who isn’t in the room. The partner, the sibling, the friend left behind.
- Grief gives perspective. It reminds you why this work matters.
What Design Leaders Should Take From This
Projects like this stretch your skills and your heart. If you’re a design leader, here’s what I’d offer:
1. Talk about feelings.
Emotional design needs emotional intelligence.
2. Slow down.
That pace is part of the empathy.
3. Measure calm.
If your interface helps someone feel steadier, that’s success.
4. Leave something meaningful behind.
Design that matters is a legacy in itself.
Design Checklist: UI/UX Best Practices for End-of-Life Tools
Designing for end-of-life involves a mix of standard UX best practices and context-specific nuances. Use this checklist to evaluate your product’s design decisions:
Design Checklist
☐ Use calm, neutral and culturally appropriate visuals (black, white, gray, soft tones)
☐ One question or task per screen
☐ Persistent progress and flexible saving
☐ Clear account deactivation/memorialization options
☐ Support “assisted planner” roles and shared access
☐ Provide culturally flexible templates and flows
☐ Avoid emotional triggers (e.g. don’t surface photos, quotes, or “memories” tied to a deceased person unless the user explicitly opts in)
☐ Include print/share/export options for offline use
☐ Prioritize accessibility and mobile usability
☐ Respect data boundaries — clarify what’s shared and with whom
Copywriting Checklist
☐ Use warm, direct, respectful language
☐ Validate emotions (“It’s okay to take your time”)
☐ Avoid jargon, euphemisms, or legalese in UI
☐ Frame planning as an act of care, not fear
☐ Offer supportive defaults for indecisive users
☐ Provide clear explanations of privacy and post-death handling
☐ Write for different cultural norms and tones
☐ Include examples or templates where helpful
☐ Keep instructions concise and pressure-free
☐ Always review for tone — especially in system messages
Final Thoughts
This wasn’t just a design project. It became part of my life.
My fiancé passed away before we finished building the product. When it came time to honor her, I used the very tool we’d been creating. I planned a celebration that felt true to her — something beautiful, honest, and full of meaning.
Later, I used the same tool to document my own end-of-life wishes. Not because I expect anything soon, but because I’ve seen how much clarity it can bring to those left behind.
Design doesn’t always give you the chance to make something that matters this deeply. But when it does, you carry it with you. This project reminded me that good UX isn’t just about screens. It’s about making space for love, memory, and the human experience — especially when words fall short.
