\n<\/p>\n
When Matt, Peter<\/strong> Listro\u2019s son, grasped that his father\u2019s death was imminent, the shock was so strong that it was physical: He felt in his chest the finality of what was to come. Matt, 39, hoped to marry one day. He had always pictured his father beaming at his wedding, and he had loved imagining the kind of grandfather he would be \u2014 wry, but sage and sympathetic. Matt, eager to ease his sense of loss, persuaded Peter to work with a company called StoryFile to help preserve his memory.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The family was taking advantage of one offering in a growing field known as Grief Tech, which ranges from chatbots trained on the communications of a person who has died to a program that uses virtual reality to create a 3-D avatar of a deceased loved one \u2014 a remarkably lifelike presence. The Listros decided on something in between: StoryFile would create an avatar of Peter that could converse through a video screen, as if his family were reaching him by Zoom.<\/p>\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n <\/svelte-scroller-background><\/svelte-scroller-background-container> <\/p>\n The day of the shoot, Peter sat in an armchair in his living room, one hand crossed over the other. His legs were crossed, too, so that his black-and-white polka-dot socks were well exposed. Slight of frame, Peter looked elegant, although to his wife of 30 years, Joan, and to Matt, he appeared almost gaunt: He\u2019d spent 72 days straight in the hospital and lost 18 pounds since he started receiving treatment for his cancer in February. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Joan fussed briefly with his belt, which was twisted. \u201cIt\u2019s a very good belt,\u201d Peter said, looking over at Matt. \u201cMake sure you wear it well.\u201d Peter smiled \u2014 he enjoyed his dark joke about his mortality \u2014 but Joan grimaced. \u201cI\u2019m going to kill him,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Peter had not agreed to participate in this project because he suddenly felt the call of posterity. He was doing it for Matt and Joan. Maybe it would provide them some comfort after he was gone. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n First, the producer asked Peter to repeat some stock phrases. \u201cSay, \u2018Hello,\u2019\u201d she directed Peter. \u201cSay, \u2018Hi.\u2019\u201d Peter did as he was told; somehow he sounded as if the word \u201chi\u201d had never come out of his mouth before, as if he were already imagining himself as some kind of futuristic robot. He said, as directed, \u201cI don\u2019t have an answer for that right now,\u201d the response that would be generated if someone asked his A.I. self a question that he hadn\u2019t answered during this interview. He was directed to say, \u201cI love you, too\u201d and \u201cIt was nice talking with you.\u201d \u201cBye!\u201d he said on command. \u201cBye for now.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n One after another, the producer asked Peter questions from a list Matt had provided: What is your favorite childhood memory? What would you tell your son on the day you meet his husband? What would you say to Matt the day his first child is born? Could you talk about the time that Matt, as a kid, asked why you loved him? Peter wept as he recalled the moment. \u201cHe is the best son,\u201d he said. He took a few minutes, wiped his eyes with a tissue, breathed.<\/p>\n <\/div>\n <\/p>\n For some answers, Matt left the room; he wanted to hear them fresh, at the appropriate time in his life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Peter spoke about growing up in modest circumstances in Queens, explaining how he built and sold a thriving business that sold baby monitors and other products for parents. Although he was proud of the comfortable life he had provided for his family, some of the memories Peter recalled were clearly painful. He had a sister with severe cognitive disabilities who was institutionalized; as a child, Peter agonized over his sister\u2019s isolation, wishing he could do more to help her. \u201cI tried,\u201d he said, bowing his head.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Peter was speaking for the record \u2014 for eternity, weighing the life that he was putting behind him as he also imagined some version of it living on indefinitely. From time to time, Joan asked if he needed a break; no, he said, keep going. Some days he was too weak to get out of bed; that day, however, he sat in the chair and answered questions for five straight hours, breaking only briefly to eat a piece of a bagel.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n His mood seemed to improve as the day passed; he was energized, even relieved, to be given the opportunity to say what he had to say \u2014 to tell Joan that he wanted her to move on, to encourage her to be strong and know that her life would continue without him.<\/p>\n <\/div>\n <\/p>\n About a week later,<\/strong> Matt sat down in his apartment in Brooklyn and clicked on a link that StoryFile provided, with some preliminary interactive material. There was his father: legs crossed, black-and-white polka-dot socks, the belt that Joan fiddled with on the day of the shoot. Peter became mobile in his seat, ever so slightly \u2014 his expression looked slightly apprehensive. If Matt pressed a \u201ctalk\u201d button, his father nodded his head a bit as if to encourage Matt to go on.<\/p>\n <\/div>\n <\/div>\n <\/svelte-scroller-background><\/svelte-scroller-background-container> <\/p>\n StoryFile frequently works with foundations and museums, but it has already made interactive videos for several individual clients. In the future, the company intends to release a generative-A.I. app in which customers can create avatars that answer questions not provided in advance, by uploading a person\u2019s emails, social media posts and other background material.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Matt and Joan preferred what they signed up for, which would be an avatar of Peter who answered only the questions that were posed while he was alive. Everything he said, they would know, was something he believed to be true, rather than an extrapolation. \u201cIt won\u2019t change the reality that I\u2019ve lost my father,\u201d Matt said. \u201cBut it lessens the blow ever so slightly, knowing that when he does die, it won\u2019t be the last time I\u2019ll ever have a conversation with him.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Matt stared into the laptop. \u201cWhy do you often say, \u2018Keep moving\u2019?\u201d he asked his father.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI feel it\u2019s very, very important that people don\u2019t get stuck,\u201d Peter responded. \u201cIf you want to grow, if you want to get ahead, it\u2019s important. And it\u2019s something I always tell Matthew \u2026 and I would tell this to my grandchildren.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/div>\n <\/p>\n Matthew tried another. \u201cWhat\u2019s a memory you cherish about us?\u201d he asked. He was shocked when his father\u2019s face, on the screen, suddenly crumbled. Peter rubbed his head as if to distract himself from the pain. Matt realized that he was capturing his father at a particular moment when they all knew his death was imminent. The emotion onscreen reflected the emotion that motivated the shoot in the first place: early grief.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sometimes the audio system didn\u2019t register what Matt was asking, or he asked a question that wasn\u2019t part of the recording process. \u201cI don\u2019t have an answer for that right now,\u201d his father said. The rote response, to Matt, was jarring \u2014 it jolted him out of the illusion he was experiencing and brought him to the brink of tears. It was a harsh reminder that he would never, after his father died, be able to ask him anything fresh. They had spent a day asking Peter questions Matt knew he\u2019d want to have answers for, but what about all the questions that would come up that he couldn\u2019t now even imagine?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Matt felt a tension between being moved by how real the experience felt yet also being reminded that it was a rendering. Peter was hoarse; he sometimes licked his lips, dehydrated. Matt wanted nothing more than to offer him a glass of water, a longing he knew he\u2019d feel every time he watched. At times, when his father wept, Matt felt an even more powerful impulse to comfort him. \u201cSeeing him cry on camera was really difficult,\u201d Matt texted me. \u201cIt was a reminder that this is a human I love that I want to console. But you can\u2019t console a video clip.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Matt closed the laptop, comforted for the moment by the knowledge that, the next day, he would see his father in real life. <\/p>\n <\/div>\n <\/p>\n