I have a question for you, and I didn’t even think it was a thing until I was talking to a coworker recently:
When people you know die, do you delete them from your phone contacts?
Or from your social media?
I have two coworkers, and one said she keeps every digital thing when a person passes; text messages, and voice messages, and she keeps posting to their social media accounts as if it was a supernatural form of communication, posting memories that come up with them in them, the whole deal.
Our other coworker removes everything, except their actual contact details. It’s too painful for her apparently.
I realized I do a bit of both.
We did all agree that we could not bring ourselves to delete their names and contact details from our phones.
That was not something I ever even considered. I mean, why would I? It’s not like I have to carry around actual books with this info in it. It’s stored away in the invisible phone storage world, with a convenient backup to the cloud.
I still have multiple contacts on my phone of people that have passed. Friends and other people I connected with in some way. There is no reason to keep them in there, it’s like I think I’m sending them off into oblivion by deleting them. I’m sure there are some cultural belief systems that view erasing a deceased person’s history is akin to disrespecting their memory and soul.
At least a couple of times a year as I’m scrolling through my contacts looking for someone, I will come across a name that gives me pause, and a moment of reflection, but I still cannot delete that contact.
Even years later, I just cannot. And if I lost my entire text message history I’d be super bummed.
I do not know why, it’s not like I ever read them or anything, just knowing they’re in there ready for me to revisit at any time is enough. A photo album for my heart.
I find it interesting that I am in the unique generational position of having the experience of keeping things that meant a lot, I have vivid memories of decorated shoe boxes I would fill with memorabilia of people and places that had gone from this earthly plane, and now, all that is online. They are all in the cloud…or somewhere similar.
I have memories of keepsake chests and boxes owned and curated by grandmothers from the greatest generation, and memories of crystal, silverware, and china sets passed down from their own long-dead relatives. Displayed with pride and even occasionally bought out and used for special events like Easter or Christmas dinners.
Or random figurines and other dust-collecting keepsakes. I have seen my own attitude towards these things go from fascination and excitement at the prospect of owning them to revulsion or thinking that it was just another thing to take care of.
The fact that they are physical and tangible items that I have to make space for, take care of, and be accountable for is incredibly overwhelming. And I don’t want to do that. Marie Knodo’s philosophy of only keeping things that spark joy resonates deeply with me.
I am not interested in being tied down by things, because things take time and care, precious time spent cleaning and dusting, and you just have to go back and do it again next week. And making room for these things is a giant pain in the butt too.
Having made it to the big half-century, I am way more interested in traveling light and being able to let things go so as to enable me to move around and do different things.
Energetically, stuff is a total minefield.
According to me anyway.
I spent some time as the Manager of a Salvation Army Family Store and we had one staff member who would take forever when it was her turn to “sort the pile” (the term we had for sorting through the giant pile of donations that took up most of the back room, that people would pull down the driveway and add to it daily. So the purpose of “sorting the pile” was to determine whether things were saleable or donatable (to various community outreach programs, like for job interviews, etc) or if it was trash to go to the dump, or only good for weight to sell as scrap cloth. (Seriously people should be ashamed of themselves when dumping stuff they know is complete trash at a thrift store), but I digress, one of our workers would pick up every single item, and turn it over in her hands, lovingly taking it all in. Whether it was a raincoat, a cut glass vase, a child’s toy, a lamp, a c.d…Every. Fricking. Thing.
She just had to scrutinize it. Take it in, feel the vibe. And BOY it was frustrating to work the back room with her.
Every few minutes, “Wow, oh my, wow, goodness, this is exquisite, so well made, incredible, wow, would you look at this? Look! Look!” punctuated with gasps and sighs and she’d hold it out for approval as if she’d just made it herself. She prided herself on being so thorough, while everybody else dreaded working the back room with her. She was painful to watch. If something was broken she’s almost be in tears trying to convince whoever was listening that it could be fixed.
That’s when I learned the value of appreciating people for their strengths and not focusing on their perceived weaknesses. She did have definite strengths, but remaining detached from an emotional connection for every donated item she put her hands on was not one of them.
I’ve often thought though, that if I was going to lose everything in a natural disaster, I would want it to be fire. After living in the coastal hurricane path of the south, although I count myself lucky I never personally experienced anything catastrophic beyond a low CAT 2 which we had evacuated for anyway, and the only damage to our home was a tree that fell in the yard, and some roofing tiles torn off. Which then took almost two months to have fixed. Because the people who ended up with trees in their homes took precedence, and there are only so many tree and roofing businesses in coastal south carolina. And obviously, a job worth tens of thousands of dollars takes a higher place on the priority list for said vendors. But it sucked and it was awful to see trees down everywhere and people’s homes flooded with high tide marks on the walls, and all their rotten moldy possession out in giant piles on the side of the road.
I could not imagine a worse way to lose your stuff. It’s all ruined, but you still have to deal with it and salvage or dispose of it. So yeah in my mind, fire, that burns everything to the ground is the kinder disaster.
So I think in a way, we are lucky to have the digital world to store the information and connections that mean something to us. In an increasingly digitized world, the phenomenon of leaving deceased contacts in our phones reveals a deep connection between emotions, grief, practical considerations, and cultural beliefs.
While some may see it as a mere digital remnant, for many, these contacts serve as emotional lifelines, preserving memories, providing comfort, and aiding in the grieving process. The decision to keep a deceased contact is deeply personal, with people finding closure in their own ways.
As our relationship with technology continues to evolve, this act serves as a poignant reminder of our deep-rooted connections and the enduring impact our loved ones have on our lives, even after they are gone.
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