Take a seat at your own funeral.
Almost every montage we make is cut in four days by people who are grieving, from whatever photographs can be found in that time. It does not have to happen that way. You can make it yourself, now, and watch it.
You are the only person who knows which photographs matter. You know which one was taken the morning you left for the ship, who is standing just out of frame, and which of the four wedding pictures is the one you would keep. Nobody sorting through a biscuit tin on a Tuesday afternoon can know that.
So we build it with you while there is time. You choose the photographs, tell us what they are, and we cut the nineteen minutes as though the service were next week. Then you watch it, in your own chair, and change whatever you want changed. Most people move four or five frames. Some rewrite the whole middle.
It is then sealed and held by us, ready to be sent to whichever funeral director your family names. It is delivered silent and looping, exactly as it is on the day.
Thirty payments, then it is yours.
No deposit. The montage is built and watched in the first month, not the last. Once thirty payments are made it is paid in full and the payments stop — you never pay more than the $1,650 it costs to have one made outright.
If you die before the thirty months are up, the balance is written off. The montage goes to your family on the day it is needed, with nothing left owing.
What it saves the people you leave.
Four days is not long. In those four days somebody has to find the photographs, decide which ones, argue about which ones, scan them, and get them to the funeral director before Thursday. It is done badly not because anybody is careless, but because there is no time and no heart for it.
Doing it now removes that entirely. It also removes the guesswork: the order is yours, the emphasis is yours, and the photograph you would never have chosen is not in it.
One a year, we will add anything new and recut it. Birthdays, a great-grandchild, last Christmas. The montage keeps up with you for as long as you need it to.
You can also set it to keep speaking after that first showing. Legacy Drip holds back extra chapters, sealed until a date you choose — an anniversary, a birthday, whatever you name — so the people you love get a new few minutes from you long after the funeral.
You would not be the first.
Two hundred and forty one people have already done this. They went through their photographs while they could still argue about them, told us the stories, sealed the result, and went back to living. Each is listed exactly as its owner asked to be listed — initials only, or nothing but a number. The montages themselves are seen by nobody until the day they are needed.
| Entry | Born | Photographs | Runtime | Status |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| M. E. F. | 1944 | 188 photographs | 19:00 | Sealed 2024 |
| T. W. | 1951 | 142 photographs | 19:00 | Amended twice |
| Entry 0117 | 1946 | 96 photographs | 14:30 | Sealed 2023 |
| H. N. | 1948 | 203 photographs | 19:00 | In progress |
| M. A. | 1945 | 171 photographs | 19:00 | Sealed 2022 |
| J. K. v. D. | 1953 | 159 photographs | 19:00 | Amended once |
| Entry 0201 | 1947 | 84 photographs | 12:00 | Sealed 2025 |
| B. R. | 1944 | 217 photographs | 19:00 | Sealed 2024 |
| A. T. | 1950 | 133 photographs | 19:00 | Amended twice |
| S. T. | 1951 | 178 photographs | 19:00 | In progress |
| Entry 0093 | 1949 | 150 photographs | 19:00 | Sealed 2021 |
| D. & N. R. | 1946, 1949 | 244 photographs | 2 × 19:00 | Sealed together |
An afternoon on how you would like to be remembered.
We visit retirement villages and give a talk that is nothing like the ones the residents are used to. No insurance, no pre-paid plots, no brochure with a dove on it. Just a screen, a projector, and a simple question: when your family sits in that room, what do you want them to see?
We show a montage or two, with permission, made by people who did exactly this. Then we show what an afternoon of choosing looks like — the shoebox on the table, the arguments about which decade had the best haircuts, the photograph someone swears will never be shown and then allows in anyway, laughing.
What people discover is that this is not a talk about death at all. It is an afternoon spent back inside their own life — the wedding, the farm, the boat that nearly sank, the kitchen that held forty Christmases. Residents leave arguing happily about photographs. Several usually book before the tea trolley arrives.
For village managers it costs nothing to host and asks nothing of the residents. We bring everything, we sell nothing in the room, and anyone who wants to go further talks to us privately, at their own pace, with their family involved exactly as much as they want them to be.