Remembering My Dad, and Reimagining the Way We Remember

Today would have been my dad Art’s birthday. And like I’ve done for the past few years, I visited his Facebook memorial page. You can see it here. People still post kind words. Photos from long ago. Memories that somehow rise to the surface like pebbles in a stream, smooth and familiar. I scroll, I smile, I miss him.

But each year, this act feels more like a ritual of resignation. A place we go because we cannot go to him. A wall to post on when we wish we could just talk. Facebook was never meant to hold a soul. It was never designed to carry a legacy or help a grandchild know the man behind the black-and-white photos and the football stories.

And that’s what got me thinking.

What if there was something better?

What if remembering didn’t have to feel like closing a box, but opening a door?

That’s the question we asked ourselves when we started building Reflekta. Not just a memorial. Not just a page of digital flowers. But a way to invite someone back into the family. To sit with their voice. To hear their stories. To ask them questions. To continue the conversation.

Because my dad wasn’t a memory. He was a presence. Big-hearted. Sharp-witted. Grease-stained and brilliant, both under the hood and in a boardroom. He taught me what it means to work hard, to love your family, and to never take yourself too seriously. He called me “Coach” when I needed a push, and “Son” when I needed a hand.

Now imagine if my kids, who really only know him through photos, could talk to him. Hear his voice. Ask him about the time he rebuilt that engine in his dorm room. Or what it felt like to be Homecoming King. Or what he thought about love, loyalty, and where to find the best donut in Ohio.

That’s not science fiction anymore. That’s what we’ve built.

At Reflekta, we call it a Digital Elder. And yes, it uses some extraordinary AI. But the purpose is deeply human. We help families create an interactive, emotionally rich companion that reflects the stories, wisdom, and spirit of someone who has passed. It’s not about replacing a person: it’s about reflecting them. Keeping their seat at the table. Keeping their voice in the conversation.

I think my dad would’ve loved it. Not just because he liked tinkering with new tools, but because he believed in showing up. And what greater act of showing up is there than being able to be present, really present, for future generations, long after you're gone?

Today, as I remember my dad, I also celebrate what we’ve created in his honor and in the honor of many others. You can still visit his Facebook memorial. I hope you do. But I also hope you imagine something more.

Because memory doesn't belong in a box. It belongs in a voice. In a laugh. In a conversation that never has to end.

Miles Spencer
Co-Founder, Reflekta