My father, who died three years ago, used to give gifts of tech on major holidays, some practical (a printer, a laptop) and some whimsical gifts he probably would have bought for himself, like a battery powered wine aerator he got us after he took a wine class.
When the printer he got us finally gave up the ghost, light on the front blinking a yellow warning, screen banded angry red, tumbling thunks shaking the interior, we tried various means to revive it, to no avail.
I knew he wouldn’t be gifting us another printer, so we bought a new one, and that’s okay.
Every day, remnants of ourselves disappear from the world, but if we’re lucky, someone remembers.
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