Birthday Suits for the Recently Deceased

We will always love and remember our brother Ian, who left us nearly a year ago. But with these important tips, our loved ones can remain present and stylish for decades to come!

For context, please visit my earlier instructable, How to Dress the Recently Deceased. This will give you the relevant information about our awesome brother, and why your life is poorer for never having met him. Unless you did, in which case, lucky you! I wish you could meet him again. But now he resides within a small rosewood box, on a table at my brother Ted's house.

How to Dress the Recently Deceased will also provide some excuse for why we decided to dress up Ian's box in the first place. In that instance, it was with a lovely orange Hawaiian shirt! And it's a pretty good story.

The projects that follow are all building on that initial idea, so please take a moment to check it out.

Did you? I hope you did.

Anyway, if you didn't, the basic idea is this: I made the Hawaiian shirt out of painted canvas. A ribbon was fastened around Ian's box, with the hook side of a velcro strip on one face. With the loop side of the velcro glued to the back, the Hawaiian shirt could be attached to the face of the box. More or less like a paper doll.

He looked very smart.

But let's be honest. We all knew that wouldn't be the end of it.

Canvas, paint, scissors, glue (I used both Gorilla brand super glue gel, and Loctite Power Grab all purpose construction adhesive). Construction paper and tape (for the stencils). Velcro strips.

The holidays are not, traditionally, a terrific time for the grieving. I was aware of that going in. Not that I typically see my brothers for the holidays anyhow; Ian's absence would not disrupt my pattern. Instead, it would just sit there, like an immovable weight on my chest. How in the heck was I supposed to deal with that?

So I made him an ugly Christmas sweater.

I think most crafty-type people are aware of the meditative quality that often permeates the act of making. The ugly sweater project was a big ol' therapy session.

This was an opportunity for me to sit with my grief, in a creatively satisfying way, which kept Ian in my thoughts while doing something that was objectively fun. It was also a way for me to feel like I was contributing something to Ted, whose grief was as present as mine but probably even sharper. Ted and Ian would have spent the holidays together.

They still would, but Ian would basically just be sitting there. The least I could do is dress him for the occasion.

I could have documented this better, but you didn't miss much.

When I made the Hawaiian shirt, I built a replica of Ian's rosewood box out of cardboard, so I could be sure that I made everything the right size. I had made a shirt template from construction paper, and I used the same stencil over again. I made a couple of long-sleeve extensions for the arms, and raised the neckline, then traced it onto a piece of raw canvas. Before cutting it out, I rounded the waist and the sleeve ends, then drew on a narrow cuff-line to give it a soft, sweatery shape.

Then I started designing a sweater! I wanted lots of stripes and traditional Christmas imagery on the sleeves, but my main intention was to stick a bunch of stuff to the front of the chest. I wanted a Christmas sweater with horrible appliques all over it.

I painted a tree on the front. And to make it extra beautiful, I varnished the tree with some gold-speckled mod-podge.

Everything else would be drawn on paper, traced on canvas, painted, and attached with glue. And while doing this, I would occasionally just burst into tears.

For the tree, I cut snow for the branches, a star for the top, and several bingle-balls.

I made eight matching candy canes (four each, facing both directions) to splash around the background, and a big row of wrapped presents for the space below the tree, reaching all the way down to the waistband. The presents were painted to look deep, but it was really just a single strip of canvas.

But that wasn't enough, so I made a multi-layered reindeer for each sleeve! That elevated the whole thing to properly gaudy levels, I think.

With the Hawaiian shirt, I made the mistake of not putting any sort of backing on it, and Ted had informed me that it had a tendency to flop or curl. So, with the ugly sweater, I made my first attempt to counteract that problem, which in this case involved a bottle of 'fabric stiffener'.

I had an old, red felt, Christmas tree skirt. From this skirt, I cut the shape of the sweater, but trimmed it down a bit so there was a slight border of canvas all the way round.

I soaked this piece of felt in the fabric stiffener, and laid it on waxed paper to let it dry. Once it was far enough along to not be squishy, I transferred it to a baking rack.

The result was satisfactory enough, and when I glued it to the back of the sweater, it did the job.

Happily, I managed to keep all of this a secret from Ted, and it arrived in the mail all unexpected.

I spent quite a few days working on the sweater, and it was cathartic but definitely a weird headspace to be in. I'm not sure I would have wanted to live with me at the time.

So the holidays passed and we all survived, but this is still our first time around the sun without our brother. Everything that happens is “the first ________ without Ian.”

May was Ian's first birthday without Ian.

Ian and Ted were much closer in age, and they always lived near each other. I knew that Ted was going to have a hard time on Ian's birthday, and I knew that I couldn't be there to help. But I wanted to help.

So I made birthday presents!

This time, I made four brand-new shirts. Using the same template, with very slight adjustments, I made a nice variety of designs that Ian would appreciate in theory, even if he wouldn't have worn them in fact.

How does any of this help Ted? Please stop asking. I have no idea how any of this works. I never lost a brother before and I hope I never do again, because it sucks, and sometimes you react by doing things you don't understand. They just make whatever sense they make.

It makes sense, in my grief, to help Ted get through Ian's birthday by creating dress-up clothes for him. Because it's funny. Even funnier than a sympathy card. If you've got a better idea, I'm listening!

One thing that Ian loved was a 'Your Mom' joke. It doesn't have to be good. Or clever. Or even sensible. A 'Your Mom' joke is always appropriate and appreciated. So that had to be the first shirt I made for Ian's birthday.

I intended this one to look like a basic novelty t-shirt, the kind you might buy at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk. Or iron onto an old undershirt.

The joke itself (if indeed it can be classified as a joke) belonged on a bumper sticker, if it belonged anywhere, but that's exactly why I found it so appealing. It was dumb and clumsy, and sounded like you were saying it wrong.

“My Other Car is Yer Mom.”

Surely that should be “My other ride,” no? But that would be crude. And my imagery, I hope, muddles the intentions even more.

To give it more heft, I ironed a layer of fusible interfacing onto the back of the shirt, and then glued a second layer of canvas over that.

Another of the many wonderful and important things beloved by Ian was Dungeons & Dragons. Here I must confess: I have never played Dungeons & Dragons. I've played a number of role-playing games in my youth, but the Big One was never a part of my life.

Except for the Saturday morning cartoon from 1983. Man, I loved that show.

Anyway, Ian was a big Dungeons & Dragons fan, right up until his passing. I wanted to honor that, but I wanted to do it in a way that was just as dumb as the Your Mom joke.

I knew that Ian had been acting as a Dungeon Master, so from there, it was an easy stroll to this “Slide Into My DMs” gag. For the sake of authenticity – and what matters in a novelty canvas paper-doll style shirt for your deceased brother's box if not authenticity? – I looked up a chart of character class symbols so I could use them in the design.

To further set the shirt apart from the group, I cut the stencil with three-quarter sleeves and painted it more like a raglan. The ringer collar is glued on to give it a more finished look.

Ian used an image of the moon as his avatar for many things, including his Instructables account where he was known as depotdevoid. He was also a big fan of the activity known as Letterboxing, which involves hiding little notebooks and stamps in real-world locations. Ian hand-carved a rubber stamp of the moon for his letterboxing activities. That stamp is the only thing I asked for.

In the months following Ian's passing, I got that stamp tattooed on my right arm. And then Ted got the same stamp tattooed in the same place.

For his birthday, I also wanted to give Ian a shirt with that same moon stamp.

I returned to a more traditional t-shirt design for this one, but in the maroon color I saw in my mind's eye. I did the moon itself in black and white, endeavoring to give it some of the uneven coverage that one gets when using a rubber stamp.

This one is the simplest shirt (just a short sleeved v-neck with a two-color image) but probably the most important. Now we all kinda match. It's a great everyday shirt; simple enough not to pull focus, but not too bland, and featuring a signature image.

The fourth and final shirt for my brother's birthday was something of a departure. I made him a guayabera. If you are unfamiliar, a guayabera is a casual collared shirt popular in central and south America, recognizable for its four-pocket design and rows of tight pleats.

Did Ian ever wear a guayabera? I have no idea. But I bet he would have looked great in one. Maybe worn open, over a sleeveless shirt, while he hustled tourists at dominoes.

This one required minor alteration of the stencil, for the notch on the bottom, and sleeve length. Cuffs and collar would be painted on canvas and glued on. With four pockets attached to the front, the guayabera would have a lot of texture.

The guayabera was going to require some delicate brushwork, especially to sell the pleats. Phthalo green is the base color, with lots of white, and some hooker's green added to the mix where the shadows get dark.

I adjusted the shading a bit at a time over a couple of days: giving some weight to the seams, finishing the buttons, and deepening the shadows under the appliques.

Finally, I decided to paint an embroidered design along the pleats. Not every guayabera has this, but it is a common variation and, after all, this was a special occasion. I thought it ended up looking very nice, and I hope he'd have liked it, even if it was real.

I was able to package up the four birthday shirts, and get them to Ted's house with lots of time to spare. He made sure Ian had a chance to model all of his new outfits. I also made a new, elastic loop that fit around Ian's box with a strip of velcro across one face. It's a better way to mount the shirts on the box, less flashy than the old one (made from orange ribbon) with enough tension to hold the shirts up without sliding.

This has been a weird year. Lots of it was terrible. Some of it was good. Ted and I are making an effort to be more actively in each other's lives even though we live on opposite sides of the state. I miss Ian all the time, and I can't imagine how much worse it is for someone who was accustomed to seeing him constantly. As time goes by, I cry a little bit less when I'm making shirts for his box. But I still want him to like them.

Maybe it's time to start thinking about differently-proportioned shirts, and incorporating little pants or shorts into the stencil. Maybe he needs a Halloween costume, or something for formal occasions. I'm not sure what happens next.

Soon the first whole year without Ian will be put behind us. Maybe the next one will hurt less. Maybe I will find new ways of processing grief, but for now, this one works.