My stepfather passed away last spring and I inherited his iPad. Since I didn’t reset the device, it contains Jeff’s old Facebook account, text messages and email. It can feel awkward, like I’m walking around the house in his XXL cat T-shirt and khaki pants. But I like having a place where I’m not distracted by my phone’s notifications.
One night while reading the news on the iPad, I saw an app I hadn’t thought of before: Photos. It had been a few months since Jeff passed away, and although I had already gone through his Gmail and Facebook messages (nothing to write about), I had overlooked this one. I waited about three seconds — wondering if I should ask my mom for permission first — and then I looked.
When a family member dies, the next of kin mainly dig through boxes in the attic, looking at albums and mementos with old stories; if our loved ones die today, they will most likely leave behind countless digital scraps: text messages, voicemails, emails, screengrabs, to-do lists, social media accounts – including hidden ones.
We want to hear what others have learned about their family or friends from the digital scraps left behind when someone died. Share with us a photo, email, Facebook post, concept note, or other digital information you’ve discovered and tell us what you’ve learned from it. (See form below.)
Like boxes in the attic, these digital messages contain stories we may not have known about our relatives. After my grandfather died, my mother looked at the letters he sent home from the military during World War II and learned about his efforts to keep Kosher during the war. Those letters had always been there, but now they carried extra weight.
Unlike the curated albums and carefully written letters of older generations, the digital scraps left behind today are often spontaneous and unedited.
My stepfather was very ill at the end and before that he spent a lot of his free time reading in bed so a lot of his pictures seemed to be taken lying down. When I looked through his Photos app, I saw a lot of foot pictures. Many of the images looked more like accidental screengrabs than intentional photos.
Feet, feet, feet, and then thud — a series of close-ups of Jeff’s face, his head leaning against his hospital bed. Did Jeff take selfies at the hospital? In one I swear I discovered a smile.
I kept going back. Most of the old photos feature my mom or his cats, Basil and Oregano – Reggie for short. Other than naming them, my mother never wanted much to do with those cats. But Jeff had his eye on her, and every time Reggie crawled into her lap while she was watching a show or reading a magazine and my mom accidentally petted him, Jeff caught the moment.
Over the years there were also several series in which my mother stood in the kitchen trying on outfits. I imagine those photos are forced, which is what you need to keep a partner happy. But then a few were taken at their favorite lake in Maine. My mom sat on an Adirondack chair painting a wildflower scene, and Jeff captured her from every angle.
In another series I spotted my boys from years ago. They might have looked like 1 and 3, while wearing footie pajamas. I saw Jeff’s belly in the pictures, the boys playing on the floor in front of him. They looked up at Jeff, with the kind of twinkle in their eyes that children save for grandparents.
The photos gave a glimpse of a moment my stepfather had with my boys that I was unaware of. I was probably still in bed when it happened, sleeping through it. It reminded me of all the other moments they must have shared, just them.
If you want to participate, please fill out this form. We plan to publish a selection of the responses in a future piece about the digital scraps left behind when someone dies. We will not publish any part of your submission without contacting you first. We may use your contact details to contact you.
