Death fosters unease and opportunity online
Type the word “stages” into your favorite Internet search engine and it will quickly suggest “stages of grief” as your likely query. That’s the five-step emotional process that psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross described in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying”: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
Today the Internet has added a new and sometimes unsettling dimension to those stages. Many funeral homes, for example, offer live-streaming video of memorial services to enable virtual attendance. And a San Francisco start-up called 1000Memories Inc. recently introduced a free online service that competes with the memorial sites from online obituary companies Legacy.com and Tributes.com.
Digital technology, many point out, holds the promise of providing future generations with a much richer knowledge and understanding of us than we have of our forebears, which in some cases is little more than words on a tombstone. But for now, much of the attention is focused on the problematic way that Facebook, as if stuck in the denial stage, keeps deceased members “alive,” digitally. The Palo Alto company also has angered users by deleting decedents’ posted messages, which many mourners consider precious touchstones.
Mary Alford of Florida and Val Rader of Colorado are two of many people who have lost loved ones who were active on Facebook. Alford’s son Peter and Rader’s brother Ed had used the site as a vital social outlet during their ordeals with cancer, sharing variously wry and meaningful comments with friends.
After their deaths, the families contacted Facebook to “memorialize” their pages. The process would allow only friends already recognized by their Facebook pages to continue to visit and share memories and condolences.
In both instances, families and friends were stunned when Facebook removed all of Peter’s and Ed’s original posts without explanation. “It’s nice to read what other people say about Peter, but I’d like to read what he said,” Alford said. “It’s like going back and reading his journal.”
“The struggle and story of Ed’s fight was all chronicled on Facebook,” Rader said. “And it was a wonderful story to be a part of. Facebook erased that in one stroke.”
In Alford’s case, Facebook’s algorithms didn’t seem to comprehend her son’s death. For a few months after Peter’s page was memorialized, his friends would receive reminders from Facebook suggesting they get in touch with Peter. If Peter’s family hadn’t contacted Facebook, the digital persona would, in a sense, have lived on.
With Facebook claiming more than 500 million users worldwide, it’s fair to wonder how many may be apparitions. “Can you imagine what Facebook will be like in 10 years if they don’t address the millions of users that will pass away?” asked Rudy Adler, co-founder of 1000Memories.
Facebook, which developed its policy after the untimely death of an early employee, says it is reviewing its approach in light of complaints. But for now Facebook’s default policy is denial: Unless the company is presented with evidence that a user has died, such as a death certificate or newspaper obituary, the digitized persona will reside indefinitely in its system. The request for proof is understandable to minimize pranks and harassment; but despite its verification policy Facebook reportedly once mistakenly memorialized the page of a user who was, in fact, alive.
Adler and his 1000Memories co-founders say their solution is a business model that aims to create a permanent online memorial that may include photos, video, audio and testimonials.
“We’re ultimately interested in answering this question: How will the Internet be used to remember a person and pass the story of their life to future generations?” Adler said.
In the near term, 1000Memories has an uphill challenge against incumbent online services such as Illinois-based Legacy.com, which in 1998 began forming alliances with more than 800 newspapers, and Boston-based Tributes.com, which since 2007 has become partners with funeral homes and provides obituaries for local TV station websites.
Adler, 28, worked in advertising before teaming with Brett Huneycutt, a childhood friend, and Jonathan Good to launch 1000Memories with seed funding from Y Combinator, a start-up incubator.
Huneycutt and Good, who became friends as Rhodes scholars at Oxford, later worked as business consultants. Determined to strike out as entrepreneurs, Adler said, they each recalled their displeasure interacting with online services after the death of a friend or relative.
For Adler, it was Facebook’s approach to a friend’s death. For Huneycutt, it was how Tributes.com handled his grandfather’s memorial — and a sales pitch that seemed literally geared to the “bargaining” stage of grief.
It began with an e-mail: “Your free-trial Eternal Tribute … has expired and the photos, music, video and templates have been disabled.” But the “Eternal Tribute” could be reactivated, for a price.
Tributes.com President Elaine Haney says the website’s service — with prices from $50 to $299 — is much more affordable and longer lasting than the conventional newspaper obituaries often augmented by Legacy.com’s online guest book.
Like many Internet start-ups, 1000Memories has embraced the so-called “freemium” business model, offering a basic service at no cost and charging a premium for extras, such as uploading video, which increases storage expenses. The start-up also anticipates partnerships that would enable it to take a share of profits for items such as flowers ordered from the site or for the creation of a physical memory books.
When Facebook explained its policy in a blog posting — suggesting that decedents’ posts are removed to protect their privacy — several baffled users reacted in tones that fell far short of acceptance.
“I want back the posts my friend made on my wall,” one user said. “I hate you guys, Facebook.”
Harris writes for the San Jose Mercury News/McClatchy.
