God damn it! If I’m not careful, I am going to go into a “complete emotional failure”. An epic widow melt-down. Breathe. Process this news s l o w l y.
See, on my most wonderful, “joyous” birthday in December, my computer crashed. Died. The IT guys at work couldn’t fix it, so, after much procrastination (obviously, as it’s now February), I took it to a specialist. Which is where I got the diagnosis. He explained that there was still hope for retrieving the data, by sending it to a data recovery service. But it would cost me. How much? I vaguely heard him say, possibly $600, going up to a thousand, as my mind started freaking out.
A thousand dollars? Are you kidding me?! I asked the guy, honestly, why does it cost so much? Because right now I am a little over-sensitive about being taken advantage of. I’m also tired of having to place monetary value on my love. If you’ve ever had to make decisions at a funeral home, you know what I am talking about.
All of my photos. Our photos, of our life, on my computer. FUCK!!!
Breathe. You survived hearing all the other diagnoses, resulting in the final outcome: “complete adrenal failure”. This is not even comparable. Apples and oranges.
The computer guy explained why it’s so costly. They have to go into a special room, devoid of dust and particles, all suited-up. The drive itself consists of several discs that are stacked together…and, one file, parsed into magnetic or digital I’s and O’s might not even exist as a unit, on one side of a disc, it might be in many places, on different sides of different discs. It’s a delicate procedure.
Hot damn. This stuff is completely over my head, and I probably butchered the explanation kindly Mac guy gave me, but I wanted to understand. Just like I wanted to understand what really took place in my husband’s body when he died. Not because I’m morbid. Because I cared. And I carry his story. The story of his death. No one else was there, except me. Who knows how this data is being stored in my being, the delicate, devastating moment.
And my hard drive? It carries the pictures of our story, our life together. An amazing technological time-capsule, but you know what they say…sometimes hard drives just fail. We can’t tell you why. People, too. Our incredible bodies, our mysterious souls. So many medical experts, and they still don’t know why some of us get cancer and some of us don’t.
If, (and it is still an “if”), they can recover the data, what is the price worth paying? I have printed a lot of the photos out. I can probably still access them in my Walgreens photo account, and I have my memories. In fact, there’s a part of me that wants to wipe the slate clean. What I have here, and now, in my heart, in my mind, is all that moves forward with me. The other things, forgotten images, old data? Out of sight, out of mind. I realize that might sound cold-hearted. Of course he will never be forgotten, there are bits of him scattered throughout me, different moments, memories, habits. But the extra trappings, the physical data, the “things” trying to keep me focused on a past that has passed, I want to off-load some of it.
But I’m not sure I can do it. I’m not a machine.
I really hope they can retrieve the “data”, the I’s and O’s of our beautiful and complex intertwined history. The thought of someone handling it with such extreme care, I’m willing to pay for that. It is precious cargo. An endangered species. My heart is pounding at the thought of losing it.
Alas, I’m back in a place where hope is the only stinking choice I’ve got.