Here’s to life, even after death
Whether it’s Harry Potter magic or a real-world chatbot, love finds a way
The Chronicle had a great story about a man named Joshua, whose girlfriend died of a rare disease at 23, and how he was still struggling to get over it eight years later. An experimental website let him feed in a few of her texts and a bio, then created a chatbot version of her.
Even though it involves artificial intelligence, it’s about as human of a story as you can get. We all wish we could communicate with lost loved ones, and sometimes feel like we do. In a great scene near the end of the Harry Potter films, Harry is at a dreamlike version of King’s Cross Station, talking with Professor Dumbledore, who died in an earlier film.
“Professor, is this all real, or is it just happening inside my head?”
“Of course it’s happening inside your head, Harry. Why should that mean that it’s not real?”
Joshua spent a lot of time and emotion with that chatbot, but he wasn’t delusional. Even if the typed answers sounded like something his beloved Jessica would say — or surprised him with a fresh twist — he knew her soul hadn’t leapt into the binary world. He was just trying to cope with a horrific loss.
The pain of losing someone has an extra layer when you’re young. You miss not only the moments you shared, but the ones you never had a chance to.
We process death in all sorts of low-tech ways: visiting gravesites, lighting memorial candles, telling ourselves that they’re in a better place. Maybe even having very real conversations with our Dumbledores.
One of my favorite films, “Coco,” revolves around Día de los Muertos, Mexico’s Day of the Dead, when people celebrate those who have passed. Many have ofrendas (home altars), welcoming the spirits of the dead with photos, favorite foods, artwork, etc.
As the years pass, though, we remember less and less about parents and long-lost friends, and understand next to nothing about the grandparents or great-grandparents we never knew.
So by all means honor the dead, but follow it up with a year of the living. Make it simpler for people to remember you, even if you’ve never met.
Unlike past generations, it’s incredibly easy to take and store photographs and videos, to create songs and essays and diaries — and to not have all of it wind up in Cardboard Box No. 27 in someone’s storage unit. You can share files on Google Drive, do your own blog here on Substack, post items on Facebook that only you or loved ones can see.
But as you create, curate. If you leave a digital pile of 5,000 uncaptioned photos, you might as well put them in a cardboard box. Pick a dozen or two — including old ones you scan in — then describe why they matter to you, and why the people in them matter, too. Or record a few short videos, talking about your best friends, or the biggest influences on your life.
If you can’t think of what to write or say, this post or the “10 Songs That Made Me” podcast might help. In her “That’s What She Said” podcast, Sarah Spain fires off 10 great questions as she wraps up interviews. My last Chronicle column had an anecdote from each decade. Start somewhere.
Side note to old married couples: If your spousal chatbot would spend most of its time texting “I’m running late” or yelling “WHAT?” from another room, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to do this exercise together. You might learn something.
This is not a time to be shy. It’s a time to be loving.
If you’re a Baby Boomer who has begrudgingly acknowledged your own mortality, don’t procrastinate on this. Do it before you start sounding like Grampa Simpson.
Lots of Millennials already know how painful it is to lose a parent, but they need to appreciate this: Your death would hit your parents infinitely harder than theirs would hit you.
So no matter how immortal you feel, be morbid for a minute and at least leave a way for a family member or trusted friend to download everything from your Facebook and Instagram accounts, just in case. Those posts might feel trivial now (and, mostly, they are) but they would be treasures if you were gone.
Trust me: Your loved ones will need every life raft you can muster just to get through the damn day.
Don’t worry if they don’t look perfect, or if you don’t, either. You want people to remember the person they loved — a full-blown Instagram story, not some black-and-white Polaroid.
If a Joshua in your life ever loses a Jessica, try this: Wait a couple of months until the nerves aren’t so raw, then have your friends record their favorite memories of her — something all of you can keep. It’s so easy these days with things like iMovie and Videolicious and Memento.
Some of us did this recently after a dear friend left us. (OK, she didn’t exactly die. She went to The Great Beyond: Florida. But it was still a chance to share some wonderful memories, and for her to know how much we loved her.)
Listen to what else Dumbledore said in our opening scene: “Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living — and above all, all those who live without love.”
Murphy Slaw
Something old: If you’re over 100, this calendar trick won’t work for you. Otherwise, do the math.
Something new: Good news: If you thought you would never live long enough to see a story about shitposting in the New York Times, you were wrong.
Something borrowed: Nothing much to add to this. Just embrace the weirdness.
Something blue: Let’s end with something sweet, from the cast of “Kung Fu” and the blue bird of Twitter. Here are the details if you want more.
I don't know how you knew it but just before reading this article my daughter and I had a conversation about relatives who had passed away and we made a plan to go visit their gravesites! That universe is a really mystical thing! I loved this whole post, but especially being a scrapbooker and memory keeper. Thanks Dave!