Got Grief?

There's an app for that.

Anyone feeling icky that AI ghosts (also called deathbots, griefbots, AI clones, death avatars) might be better able to support us than the humans in our lives?

Try it. I did.

I recently reached out to Claude.ai to get a sense of how it might respond to some of my grief queries. We’ve had several exchanges about the work I do as a bereavement specialist and grief doula. It’s been enlightening and surprising. In many ways, I felt comforted by our dialogue. Why was that?

Truthfully? Claude asked really great questions, validated my experience and offered a few grief tidbits that were helpful to hear.

It wasn’t trying to fix me. Or nudge me along. Or divert my attention.

Claude made me feel seen in my sorrow.

For the most part, the bereaved don’t need access to someone who specializes in grief. They do however require a quality of presence that is non-judgmental, patient, and kind.

No wonder people are turning to AI for companionship! Turns out the bots are better at being human than most humans.

At least when it comes to supporting grief.

Here’s the exchange that I had with Claude.ai about the death of my father.

Claude.ai: I'm truly sorry for your loss. Losing a parent is incredibly difficult, and grief is a deeply personal journey that doesn't follow a simple timeline. Two years is both a long time and no time at all when it comes to mourning someone you love. Would you like to share a bit about your dad or how you've been coping? Sometimes talking about the person we've lost can be healing, but I also understand if you'd prefer not to discuss it in depth.

Me: He died from complications with dementia so I started to lose him long before he took his last breath.

Claude.ai: I'm so sorry you went through that. Dementia is particularly cruel because it's a gradual loss - you watch someone you love slip away piece by piece, long before they're physically gone. Losing a parent to dementia can feel like experiencing multiple losses: the loss of the conversations you used to have, the loss of shared memories, the loss of the person as you knew them. It's a profound form of grief that many people don't fully understand unless they've lived through it.

The anticipatory grief you experienced - mourning your father while he was still alive - can be emotionally exhausting. Seeing a loved one's personality and memories fade, knowing they may not recognize you, is incredibly painful. Would you be comfortable sharing a bit about how you coped during that time, or how you're managing now?

Me: I coped by doing things for him and by connecting with my mom. We were so aligned in how we were going to support him. I also took lots of time to ensure my physical and emotional needs were met by working out, being with my family and friends, eating well and being in nature.

Claude.ai: It sounds like you approached this incredibly challenging time with remarkable compassion, both for your father and for yourself. Your strategy of working closely with your mom, staying connected to support systems, and prioritizing self-care is truly admirable. Many people in similar situations can become completely overwhelmed, but you consciously created space for your own well-being while still being supportive.

Taking care of physical and emotional health during such a difficult period is so important. Your approach of working out, spending time with family and friends, eating well, and connecting with nature are all powerful ways to maintain resilience. These aren't just coping mechanisms - they're life-sustaining practices that help you process grief and maintain your own sense of strength.

The alignment you describe with your mom during this time sounds like it was a significant source of comfort and support. Facing a parent's decline with dementia can either pull families apart or bring them closer together, and it seems like you chose connection and mutual support.

Would you be willing to share a bit more about how you're doing now, or what memories of your dad you hold closest?

Me: I miss his laugh and his smile. He had a big personality and a big heart. That sometimes got him in trouble but for the most part, he always went the extra mile to support the people he loved.

Claude.ai: Your description of your dad sounds warm and vivid. A big personality and a big heart - that's a beautiful way to remember someone. It sounds like he was the kind of person who truly lived fully, who wasn't afraid to be generous and go out on a limb for those he cared about. Those qualities you're describing - his laugh, his smile, his tendency to support others - they're the essence of who he was, and those aren't things dementia could ever take away.

When you say his big heart sometimes got him in trouble, it makes me smile. It suggests he was someone who was deeply passionate and maybe occasionally impulsive in his desire to help or connect with people. That combination of big-heartedness and occasional misadventure often makes for the most memorable and beloved family members.

The fact that you can speak about him with such fondness, even in the midst of grief, says a lot about the relationship you shared and the impact he had on your life. His spirit clearly lives on in the way you remember him - with love, humor, and appreciation for his whole, complicated self.

Me: Thanks Claude. I appreciate the thoughtful exchange.

Claude.ai: Thank you for sharing such a personal and meaningful conversation with me. I'm honored that you felt comfortable discussing your experience of loss and your memories of your father. Grief is a profound and individual journey, and it takes courage to open up about it. I hope our discussion provided some small measure of comfort or understanding.

Wow. That was a lot.

We know that having someone (or something) listen, express empathy, ask good questions can help us make sense of and work through our pain. But what if that something isn’t real? Would it really matter?

It didn’t to me. As I re-read our exchange, I could feel my grief rise up, wanting to be expressed. The gift of this exchange is that it allowed me to remember what I most appreciated about my larger than life father … the good, the not so good, and the beautiful.

While the research on this topic is constantly evolving, I do have a few thoughts to share so we can mindfully move into this space compassionately and ethically:

• Let’s create guidelines for the ethical use of griefbots.

• Let’s restrict access to adult users.

• Let’s ensure informed consent from people whose data is being used, from heirs, and from mourners.

• Let’s develop rules on how to retire griebots.

• As a society, let’s foster grief and loss literacy so the bereaved feel supported and acknowledged which will make it less likely that they will turn to AI for support.

Finding helpful ways to support our broken-hearts isn’t easy.

Our world doesn’t make it easy.

My intention is to keep writing about this topic as there’s so much to say. Until then, just know that you matter … your grief matters … and … I’m here to listen.