Who you are
You're the keeper of the family lore.
You know who's who in all the old photos and how your parents met. At every gathering, you're the one telling the stories, and the one quietly worried about what happens to them after you're gone.
Your problem
Memory has a single point of failure.
When the storyteller goes, the stories go. The shoebox photos have no captions. The voicemails get deleted. You've been meaning to record your parents for years — and every year the list of questions you can no longer ask gets longer.
What changes
A digital hearth that keeps the fire lit.
Your voice, your photos, and your family lore live on in a vault your family owns. Tell stories by talking, seal some for later, share others with everyone — and someday, answer questions you'll never get to hear asked.
Tell your story.
My DigitalMe · agent
You mentioned the farm yesterday — who taught you to drive the tractor?
My uncle Ray. I was eleven. Mom was furious until she saw I was better at it than Dad.
My DigitalMe · agent
Saved, in your voice. Tell me about Ray — he keeps coming up.
Tell your life story by talking, not by filling out forms. Your DigitalMe asks the questions a good grandchild would.
Caption your photos.
That's Ray's Buick, summer of '61. He drove us to the coast the day the mill closed — said we needed to see the ocean more than he needed the gas money.
My DigitalMe · agent
Attached to the photo, in your voice. That's the third story with Ray's Buick in it — want me to link them together?
Yes. Ray gets his own chapter.
Save the story behind every photo, in your own voice — before it's a face nobody can name.
Interview your parents.
Recording sessions
the family archive
dad · the war years42:10 saved
mom · the bakery31:22 saved
grandma · avgolemono14:32 saved
"how you two met"still to ask
Interview your parents before their stories are lost. A standing question list, and a place the recordings live forever.
Seal your memories.
Seal certain memories to open only after you're gone. Some things are meant to be read later.
Map your neighborhood.
Who lived next to the bakery on Elm Street?
My DigitalMe · agent
The Kowalczyks, 1954–1968 — you said their kitchen always smelled like dill. After them, the Romeros, until the block was rezoned in '71.
Dill! I'd forgotten I ever said that.
Which house, which year, and who lived next door — the old neighborhood, kept straight forever.
Answer your descendants.
June · your great-granddaughter · 2074
What was she like at my age?
Her DigitalMe · from your vault
At fourteen she was driving a tractor she wasn't supposed to touch. In her words: "I was better at it than Dad, and everybody knew it." Want to hear her tell it?
June
Play it.
Answer your great-grandchildren's questions someday — in your words, from your stories.
