From family photos stored on the cloud to social media posts cataloging life’s pivotal moments, the digital world is infused with representations of who we are.
What happens to that digital legacy after we die, and how do we manage the virtual heirlooms our loved ones leave behind?
has answers.
“Whether you are making plans for your own passing or maybe you have lost a loved one and are dealing with their digital affairs, it can be an overwhelming process” said clinic founder Jed Brubaker, an associate professor of Information Science. “What you are supposed to do and how to do it is not always clear and, unfortunately, most tech platforms don’t have systems in place to help. That’s where we step in.”
Launched this month, the first-of-its-kind clinic operates similarly to a pro-bono law clinic, with specially trained Information Science students providing free advice and troubleshooting for the public.
The average internet user has as many as , from Google drives loaded with cherished snapshots to Pinterest accounts containing favorite recipes and Ancestry.com accounts tracing family trees back for generations. Yet, according to one forthcoming paper from Brubaker's only 13% of platforms have features expressly designed to address the end-of-life needs of their users.
“Companies think about designing for all kinds of different aspects of our lives, from birthdays to wedding anniversaries,” he said. “But they have overlooked perhaps the most profound one of all, which is when those lives come to an end.”
Why you need a plan
In 15 years of studying what he calls ‘the digital afterlife,’ Brubaker has uncovered a host of heartbreaking reasons it’s worth making an end-of-life plan for our data. Facebook pages – left inaccessible to anyone but their creator – can linger long after that person has died, leaving algorithms to send eerie birthday notifications or ‘memories’ to grieving loved ones.
Family members without passwords frequently hit roadblocks when trying to access photos or videos from the deceased’s Google or iCloud storage accounts.
Original art, music, stories or professional work shared via digital platforms or personal websites can be deleted and lost forever if unaccounted for.
And the sheer volume of data can be daunting for the those tasked with sorting through it after someone dies.
“If grandma dies and you have to sort through her attic, at least you know where the attic is, you know where the key is and you know where the attic ends,” said Brubaker. “When it comes to our digital spaces, they are almost infinite. We keep putting more and more stuff in there and while some of it matters, some of it doesn’t.”
Because tech companies, by nature, tend to have minimalist customer service departments, surviving family members often face endless hold times and unanswered messages, exacerbating their grief.
“Our analysis revealed that most platforms offer minimal functional support and that many end-of-life needs are impossible to meet or rely on unsanctioned workarounds,” said Dylan Thomas Doyle, a former hospital chaplain-turned PhD candidate and co-author of the study on tech-company preparedness – due out later this year.
Digital love letters
Brubaker conceived of and founded the clinic with a $550,000 National Science Foundation CAREER Grant.
To prep for the launch, students have taken sensitivity training, consulted with lawyers and dug into the technical intricacies of dozens of platforms. They’ve also handled a few dozen cases already.
In one, they helped a grieving widow preserve her late husband’s blog about his long battle with cancer. In another, they helped a mother who had lost her daughter to suicide stay connected to her memorialized Facebook account after a technical glitch kicked her off.
The clinic does not provide advice on financial matters – like how to access bank accounts or retirement funds. Fortunately, the designers of those systems have thought through what happens after someone dies, and there are policies and laws in place to help ensure their end-of -life needs are met, Brubaker said.
In a sense, the personal stories, family histories and cultural heritage embedded in our virtual heirlooms are even more valuable than material ones, he said.
“One hundred years from now I hope no one cares what my bank account number was. But those text message threads - like modern-day love letters - or Instagram posts congratulating you on your wedding. Those matter. It would be a tragedy if all that is lost. We’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
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