The perilous rise of grief tech and what it's taking from us

A new industry promises to reanimate those we've lost. It may change what it means to be human

- By Kavisha Pillay

(Illustration: iStock)

Loss has a way of reorganising our lives.

One day, the familiar rhythms of life are intact - the warmth of a voice, the easy choreography of shared routines, the unspoken assurance that tomorrow will arrive much like today.

But, whether we welcome or resist it, loss is one of the few certainties of being human, and we will all be confronted by its weight.

Grief, in its rawest form, is not only about what is taken from us, but about what remains. To mourn is to stand at the edge of absence and realise how deeply we are shaped by presence. Loss sharpens us. It cracks the illusions of permanence, confronts us with the fragility of life, and forces us to reckon with who we are without what we loved.

In this sense, grief is not merely a wound to endure, but a teacher. We emerge altered, stitched together with threads of longing and memory. The work of grief is slow, unchosen and deeply human.

I learnt this at 16 when my father died. One day he was vividly present - his laughter filling rooms, his dreams and desires an inch within reach. The next, he was gone. My young mind could not process how someone who was so audaciously alive could suddenly vanish into silence, leaving nothing behind but memories and unreturned messages.

Like many who experience this type of loss, I longed for more - more time, more memories and just one more conversation.

Perhaps it was inevitable that technology would try to answer this universal longing. Today, the “grief tech” industry is growing rapidly, from chatbots that imitate the texting style of the dead to AI-generated voices and deepfake video calls. Myriad companies are now selling the possibility of digital resurrections.