For those familiar with me, they know I seldom cry. Raised by my grandfather and father, both were men of few emotions. My grandfather, a true mountain man and a remnant of a bygone era, claimed a piece of land in Dixie, Idaho, and he cherished it as much as family. I learned a lot about the security of self reliance from him. My Idaho dad lived a life governed by logic and kindness, prioritizing understanding and empathy, always placing others' needs before his and teaching me the importance of considering other perspectives before my own. He was truly remarkable.
These two were the paramount influences in my life, both then and now. I dream of hearing their voices just once more, as I remember them: strong, not frail, ill, or fading away. To simply hear them at their best, imparting wisdom as they always did, exactly when I needed it most. Oh, how I miss them deeply. Today, more than ever, I find myself needing their insight, their patience, and their unwavering support.
During the 80s and 90s, hearing the artificial, synthesized voice utilized by individuals who had lost their larynx, and then having to rely on an electrolarynx, always struck me as awkward. It was technology doing it’s best to solve a problem. Individuals with amputated limbs turning to prosthetics to reclaim some semblance of what was lost showcase the rightful application of technology.
I recall reading an article in the 90s about some individuals engaging in body modifications by embedding neodymium magnets, encased in rubber, into their fingertips. This gave them a unique ability to sense electromagnetic fields, from power lines embedded in walls to the spinning up of hard drives in their laptops. This is another instance of technology application I find commendable. From wheelchairs and prosthetics to electrolarynx and enhancements within reasonable limits, I support such uses of technology.
When my grandfather passed away, I took a photograph of him after discovering a company in Florida that creates stuffed animals and other items based on photographs. Although they typically cater to transforming children's drawings into stuffed toys, they had made several "stuffed people" for children missing parents who were either deployed or had passed away. I commissioned one of my grandfather and opted for an additional feature: a small audio player that could record and playback sound upon being pressed. We had a home video where my grandfather, was prompted to say "something" for the camera, humorously repeated "Something, something, something," followed by his laughter. This moment, showcasing of his quick wit, was familiar and cherished by our entire family. Now, as a gift for my grandmother, it became a small effigy of her husband that she could keep by her side, offering her the solace of hearing him say "something" whenever she wished. Technology provided her with a tangible source of comfort.
After watching the Apple video I shared above, I must say it moved me to tears for the first time, and I cried. I would give a lot to hear my loved ones again, but I am concerned that would become a crutch? The Black Mirror episode “Be Right Back” explores the concept of replicating a lost loved one with technology. I believe the episode accurately depicted the eventual regret of such endeavors. It's conceivable that many in mourning would pay a significant price to digitally resurrect their lost loved one. But is this the proper application of technology?
I deeply miss my Idaho dad, grandfather, and now grandmother. They hailed from an era whose mindset, while rich in strength and wisdom, was also marked by the biases and preferences shaped by their times. Completely replacing those we've lost might diminish the value of the time we shared with them and our current existence. We are not meant to be immortal. Being immortalized in memory and history is acceptable, provided we acknowledge that our existence serves as a time capsule of our era. Reviving my grandfather would also resurrect his time, a notion we, or I, must come to terms with moving beyond.
Ultimately, we need to be capable of mourning and moving beyond our losses. Healing will not complete us, but we adapt to live in new ways. Anyone who has experienced the loss of a limb can attest that one doesn't feel entirely 'whole' again, yet we learn to cope with the absence.
Technology offers a means to close these emotional distances, yet it demands careful management. The temptation to replace a decades-long partner with an AI 'replicant' offering text, voice, or video is strong, yet such recreations cannot truly bring them back. These facsimiles may sound convincingly like our lost loved ones, but it's a deception we must understand. This technology's true value lies in aiding those who have lost their own abilities, not our inability to cope with our loss.
Though I've lost some of the most significant people in my life, I often wish for the existence of certain technologies back then that are emerging now. Many of these technologies, discussed at length with my Idaho Dad, included innovations for commemorating lost loved ones. Possessing such a tool during their last days, especially when faced with 'lock-in'—a condition of being fully conscious but unable to communicate—would have been invaluable.
Eleven years ago, as my mother-in-law was battling cancer, I had an idea. She was deeply loving towards her grandchildren. I suggested capturing her reading children’s books on video while she still had her vitality and appearance intact. Beyond that, we contemplated recording a message for each grandchild's upcoming birthdays. Imagine the wonder for my daughter that lost her when she was only 3, receiving a video message from her grandmother on her 12th birthday—a lasting memento infused with wisdom and experiences to guide her into the new age of her life. Such a manifestation of enduring love is achievable solely through technology. Whether from handwritten notes to digital recordings, technology grants us the power to transcend our finite existence, offering a semblance of continuity. Regrettably, I never realized this initiative, and now, my children have lost what could have been an invaluable source of guidance.
Apple's Lost Voice represents the newest advancement in a series of innovations designed for those seeking to maintain communication and overcome the constraints of physical incapacity while still among us. The final voice message from my father, despite its fragmented and weakened quality, conveyed his love—a message I treasure and revisit to re-experience his affection. He was a remarkable man by choice, and technology has enabled me to maintain his presence in my life. Had Lost Voice been available during his time of need, imagine the plethora of additional messages I could have received from him. May we steward technology in the right direction as I feel Apple has done here.