Tech keeps memories of loved ones alive
I never deleted my dad’s cellphone number. And every so often, while I’m searching for something on my phone, I stumble upon it.
My father died on Oct. 9, 2009 — four years ago yesterday and 20 days before my 17th birthday. He’d fought a six-year battle with multiple myeloma and then one Friday …
And I never deleted his cellphone number. I’ve had at least two phones since then, maybe three. Yet, without hesitation, I’ve always allowed this contact to slip through the data syncs from old phone to new phone so that it may idly rest in my pocket never to be used but, once in a while, seen.
It’s something I think about a lot this time of year. And, at a certain point, when I’ve thought too long about it, the idea that I still have my dad’s phone number seems rather silly. For all I know, his number could belong to anyone ranging from a used car salesman to an IRS auditor.
But, in the end, despite having less utility than a slide rule in the age of graphing calculators, it’s extremely meaningful. So I keep it there.
Technology is often criticized for distancing us and polarizing us. It’s often attacked for pulling us away from the “real” world into an abyss where personality and identity can be deconstructed, reshaped and projected with the click of a Facebook or Twitter post. It renders one completely detached, they say, left with only stunted verbal skills and subpar personal skills.
There’s some truth to that. Yet, communication technology can genuinely be very comforting and that’s probably why I haven’t removed his cellphone number. Or deleted his email account, his Facebook, and LinkedIn.
Instead, as senseless as it might seem, these technological avenues, which exist with no real utility or value, have sprung into a source of invaluable connection.
In many ways, this should be nothing new. Like flipping through the letters of old, there is something inexplicably powerful about reading my father’s old emails to myself. I wasn’t even “friends” with my dad on Facebook or LinkedIn. Still, on the rare occasion when the worlds collide and I run into his name online it’s somehow consoling, even if a bit unnerving at first.
Despite its comparison to the past, one should not diminish just how remarkable it is to know that memory of my dad exists just a Google or email search away. It’s a privilege that my generation will increasingly have but one that has not always existed.
A little more than a year ago, I helped my mom go through some of her own mother’s belongings. First, there’s something you need to know about my grandmother. She was without a doubt one of the most just, kind, and generous people I’ve ever met. She also kept everything. This was something that only worsened with her dementia.
We found everything from campaign buttons to fading photos to aged trinkets to clippings of poems and news articles. As someone who is interested in the study of the past, they were nothing short of fascinating. Like my dad’s emails, they provided, for me, a way in which to connect and remember my grandmother. I even keep some of the photos we found in my room at home.
But these items are different when they exist on the Internet or on your phone. Unlike physical objects, they are always available and except for an occasional redesigned webpage or software update, the appearance of most content on the Internet is fixed.
In this sense, one could even argue that there is ironically a refined permanence to the content that we leave behind on our virtual reality known as the Internet. The corners of our tweets do not tatter from age nor do our Facebook photos, a fact that makes something inherently very unreal — something that, by its definition, exists virtually — very real. You might not be able to touch an email or a photo on the Internet, but the connection is still strong.
So, once again, pressing the delete button this year was paralyzingly difficult. And for the fourth time, I’ve decided to wait until next year.
Daniel Rothberg is a junior majoring in political science. His column “Twenty-First Century Fears” runs Thursdays.
Follow Daniel on Twitter @danielrothberg