What this place was
The small project that lived at this address is no longer with us. It did its quiet work for a few years and then, like most small things, it was set down.
The name stayed. It turned out to be waiting for something else.
What it may become
Somewhere this morning a phone lit up with a birthday reminder for someone who will not have another birthday.
Her daughter saw it before she had her coffee. Later that day, a suggestion: people you may know. His photo, smiling, from a summer four years ago. A message thread with the last text still unanswered, because the answer was a hospital corridor and then silence.
We build our lives in places that never expected us to leave. Accounts, albums, half-written notes, a profile that keeps having a birthday. When we are gone, the machines carry on as if nothing happened, and the people who loved us are left to knock on doors with no one behind them, asking for a password, a proof, a form, a way to close a chapter that was never designed to close.
By some estimates, tens of millions of the profiles we scroll past already belong to people who have died. Before this century ends, the dead on the largest networks may outnumber the living.
A graveyard is not a sad place because of the dead. It is a place because someone tended it. Someone chose the stone, kept the path clear, left flowers on a Tuesday for no reason. The internet has no such place. It has abandoned pages and automated reminders.
rememome, re-member me, could be that place: somewhere a family can reclaim, close, or keep what someone left online; somewhere to put the pieces of a person back together, on purpose, with care; somewhere to leave a light.
Where it stands
This is an idea, not a product. There is no service yet, nothing to sign up for, nothing to pay. It is being thought about slowly, because it should be.
If it touches something in you, if you have carried this for someone, or you would want to help build it, leave a few words below. They will be read.