More than a year after Chris Linn’s disabled son, Tom, died unexpectedly of sepsis in his 20s, his ashes were still in the U.S. Postal Service priority mail slip they had arrived in and gathering dust on a shelf in Linn’s garage. To Linn, It felt like a distant, strange way to remember her son, even though the ashes being out of sight helped with her grieving. “I knew I had them, and I thought, someday I want to do something with them,” she explains.