Cybertime—Repost

Reposting my post on Cybertime from earlier in the year that Dr. Sinclair called a "must read," in his Palliative Grand Rounds so that anyone looking for it doesn't have to search through the archives ...

My mom just opened up a Gmail account that she rarely uses. Actually, rarely is an understatement. She set it up, but really hasn't opened it up since then. So, it has sat idle for a couple of years. But fed up with hotmail spam, she finally decided to switch to the account.

When she logged in, she found 177 emails from my grandfather, her father, who died 14 months ago.

Email provides us with some odd timing situations ... and they can be especially odd when the sender has passed on. Susan Barnes writes about the nature of time as it relates to email: "Email messages are sent and received in asynchronous time." Barnes continues, "Cybertime blurs the distinctions between past, present, and future because when reading email we have the sense of simultaneously conversing with the author in cyberspace."

The author sends the email in the present, and it sits in our inbox for a given amount of time ... could be seconds, could be years. However, whenever it is that we get around to reading it, we perceive that moment to be the present for the email.

In cases where the author has since passed on in real-time, the reader is left in a strange, emotional limbo in which the author still exists in cybertime.

Most of my grandfather's emails were silly forwards about safety at the gas pump, not forgetting 9-11, etc., so it probably wasn't as jarring as receiving 177 new, personally crafted emails ... but still, it had to be a disquieting experience for my mother.

SympathyTree.com

We've talked about cyber-afterlife before on this blog, but in the realm of MySpace pages, something created by an individual that simply remains up after they die and then becomes a sort of de facto tribute to them, after the fact.

But what about using the technology for a more purposeful memorial? Such options are out there. I had the opportunity earlier this week to speak with Louise Zweben, CEO of SympathyTree.com, a company that allows users to create online memorials.

It's a fascinating site, and I recommend everyone check it out, at least for a quick parusal.

There are two immediate benefits available from this type of memorial, benefits that Louise has consciously worked to create.

First, due to the one-to-many and even many-to-many nature of social network communication, information can be posted on one of the sites and instantly dispersed to family all over the world. When someone passes away, there are lots of logistics that need to be communicated to family and friends—where is the funeral, where should everyone donate money, where should they buy flowers, what hotel is the immediate family at, etc. With a memorial site, the immediate family can designate a single person, or a couple of people, to post the relevant information, spread the site address, and then interested parties can simply log in to see all information as it is updated. Clunky phone trees are not necessary. Multiple, emotionally taxing phone conversations can be avoided. Brilliant, right?

Second, the site allows the family and friends to tell the complete story of the deceased: their life and their death. Louise says, "It starts a conversation about the person's life." Users have a choice to make the site public or private. If public, anyone can read the site and comment. If private, viewers and commentators are limited to those selected by the site's moderator. You'll notice on the public sites, there are photos and stories. People share anecdotes and memories.

After my grandfather died, one of my favorite moments was going through all of the cards everyone left at his funeral. Many people wrote about great things he had done for them, things my parents, my grandmother, my aunt and uncle didn't know about. Some shared funny stories. If this was done on a memorial site, everyone who had access to the site could share in the joy that we felt reading about my grandfather's best moments.

Also, something I like better about this type of site than the MySpace site, it is honest about time and tense. The person has died, and the site starts out telling the story of their complete life and death. There is no incomplete, weird forever alive in cyberspace feeling like you get with MySpace pages of people who have died.

I have more to say about SympathyTree.com than I can reasonably fit in one post. So, I will be adding more later ... but these are my first thoughts. Please check out the site and let me know what you think.

Cybertime

My mom just opened up a Gmail account that she rarely uses. Actually, rarely is an understatement. She set it up, but really hasn't opened it up since then. So, it has sat idle for a couple of years. But fed up with hotmail spam, she finally decided to switch to the account. 

When she logged in, she found 177 emails from my grandfather, her father, who died 14 months ago. 

Email provides us with some odd timing situations ... and they can be especially odd when the sender has passed on. Susan Barnes writes about the nature of time as it relates to email: "Email messages are sent and received in asynchronous time." Barnes continues, "Cybertime blurs the distinctions between past, present, and future because when reading email we have the sense of simultaneously conversing with the author in cyberspace." 

The author sends the email in the present, and it sits in our inbox for a given amount of time ... could be seconds, could be years. However, whenever it is that we get around to reading it, we perceive that moment to be the present for the email. 

In cases where the author has since passed on in real-time, the reader is left in a strange, emotional limbo in which the author still exists in cybertime. 

Most of my grandfather's emails were silly forwards about safety at the gas pump, not forgetting 9-11, etc., so it probably wasn't as jarring as receiving 177 new, personally crafted emails ... but still, it had to be a disquieting experience for my mother.