Your audio-and-text option:
Listen to the Evelyn and Charles story as you read it (below).
“Evelyn, are you absolutely certain ‘FluffyBunnyLover98’ is your current Instagram handle?” Charles peered over his spectacles, a mischievous glint in his eye.
He tapped his pen against a meticulously organized spreadsheet, labeled “Digital Afterlife Project: Phase One.”
Evelyn, perched on a stool in their sun-drenched home office, didn't miss a beat. “It was a phase, Charles. A very private phase. And yes, it’s still active. Now, did you remember to add the password for that obscure online stamp collecting forum you frequent?”
It was a Saturday morning, a time most people spent enjoying a leisurely breakfast or tackling home improvement projects.
But for Evelyn and Charles, both tech-savvy, this weekend was dedicated to a different kind of legacy: their digital afterlives. They had heard enough horror stories from friends whose children had spent months, even years, trying to untangle forgotten online subscriptions, inaccessible social media accounts, and digital assets locked behind unbreakable passwords. They weren’t about to inflict that headache on their own offspring, Sarah and Tom.
“This,” Evelyn declared, gesturing grandly at the growing stack of binders and notebooks, “is our password pilgrimage. A journey to digital peace.”
Charles chuckled, highlighting a line on his spreadsheet. “And a guarantee our children won’t inherit a mountain of forgotten subscription fees for things we stopped using a decade ago.”
Their "pilgrimage" was meticulous, almost comically so. They started with the big ones: banking, investments, utilities. Each entry included the website, username, password, and crucially, clear instructions: "Close account," "Transfer funds to main estate," or "Convert to paper statements."
Then came the more personal, and often amusing, categories. Evelyn, with a theatrical sigh, began dictating her social media accounts. “Facebook, FluffyBunnyLover98. Password, you know it. Please delete my embarrassing early Facebook posts. The ones from 2008 with the animated glitter GIFs. Just … poof. Gone.”
Charles made a note, trying to suppress a smile. “Got it. ‘Operation Glitter Purge.’ What about your Pinterest boards?”
“Oh, those are staying,” Evelyn said firmly. “Someone might want to replicate my artisanal sourdough techniques.”
Charles’s turn was equally revealing. He sheepishly admitted to an online bridge game addiction, complete with virtual points and a surprisingly competitive ranking. “For this one,” he instructed, a serious expression on his face, “ensure all my online bridge game points are transferred to my friend, Peter, if he’s still playing. He deserves my legacy.”
Evelyn snorted. “Your legacy of questionable card-playing? Duly noted.”
They discovered forgotten subscriptions they’d been paying for unknowingly: an obscure bird-watching magazine online, a premium news service they’d signed up for during a free trial and never canceled – even a defunct cloud storage service still charging them monthly.
Each discovery was met with a mixture of annoyance and grim satisfaction.
“That’s another 10 dollars a month saved!” Charles exclaimed, striking a line through an entry. “Think of all the potential fees our poor children would have racked up trying to track these down.”
By Sunday evening, they had compiled a comprehensive document, organized into binders with tabbed sections. There was the "Financial Fortress" binder, the "Communication Hub" binder, and the particularly thick "Entertainment and Hobby Haul" binder. Each digital asset, from their extensive e-book library to Evelyn’s collection of online art tutorials, was cataloged.
They even wrote a humorous, heartfelt cover letter for Sarah and Tom, explaining the "Digital Afterlife Project" and its accompanying "password pilgrimage."
It ended with a shared sentiment: “We hope this saves you a few headaches and perhaps provides a few laughs at our expense. Just remember to delete the glittery GIFs.”
As they closed the final binder, a sense of quiet accomplishment settled over them. It had been painstaking, yes. But at times also hilariously revealing.
And the thought of saving their children from the potential digital chaos upon their passing was a relief. They had invested their time now, preventing countless hours of work later.
Their digital legacy, like their "real-world” one, would be a gift, not a burden.
Also hear and read this “parent story” from 2024:
Go to “Nancy’s Turnaround”
Age: Our greatest asset!
Jim Hasse, ABC, GCDF retired, author of “52 Shades of Graying”
Weekly Stories About Aging Well
“It’s impossible not to love someone whose story you’ve heard.” - Mary Lou Kownacki
Stories about addressing ageism.
Stories about handling ableism.
Stories about thriving during the second half of life.
Accolade: “Love reading your stories. You never disappoint.” - Mary K.
How to use “My Latest Legacy Nugget” resources to share
your “52 Shades of Graying” comment with a family member or friend.
Template for “My Latest Legacy Nugget” note - birthday
Template for “My Latest Legacy Nugget” note - graduation day
Template for “My Latest Legacy Nugget” note - holiday greeting
Template for “My Latest Legacy Nugget” note - special day
Template for “My Latest Legacy Nugget” note - wedding anniversary
Template for “My Latest Legacy Nugget” note - wedding day
See all past issues of “52 Shades of Graying.”
See all past chats of “52 Shades of Levity.”
Check guidelines for your “52 Shades of Graying” Discussion Group.
You can decide right now if your Google account should be deleted if it becomes inactive.
To set your preferences, go to: https://myaccount.google.com/inactive
When your Google account becomes inactive, Google will notify any contacts you’ve added. They will have three months to download a copy of data that you selected from your Google account.
After this 3-month time period, even if you didn’t add any contacts to be notified, Google will delete your account and its activity and data.
So, maintain your control by setting your preferences now with Google.
* What other quick things can you do right now to make your exit from the Internet easier for your family when you’re gone?
OMG< dear Jim.... Again, as I read this on a Sunday night, I am impressed and thank fun to the "hilt' that I live close to you . I just wish that we could communicate more often, and that i could somehow get to know you and wonderful ,spunky Pam ,better your down the hall neighbor and friend,... Linnea
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