I was at a loss for words when a friend first revealed that she had been “talking” to her deceased father via an app. We were seated at an old-fashioned café with chipped marble tables and a ceiling fan that swayed every few minutes. Almost shyly, she slid her phone over to me. The speaker’s voice was thin and had a slightly irregular cadence, but its phrasing was unmistakable. She grinned. She then shed a few tears. She then placed another coffee order.
Every time the topic of AI therapists and griefbots comes up, which is increasingly common these days, that moment comes back to me. Technology has advanced more quickly than people’s vocabulary. These days, you can train a model on someone’s voice notes, old text messages, and even incomplete emails to create something that closely resembles their rhythm. Not real, but familiar. I’m not sure if everyone who uses these tools wants to focus on it, but there is a difference.
There is open division among mental health professionals. Some see great potential, particularly for those who lack access to quality clinicians or who cannot afford traditional therapy. At three in the morning, a chatbot is at least something. Others are concerned that what appears to be comfort could actually be a subtle form of avoidance disguised in friendly language. Professor of nursing at the University of Virginia Kimberly Acquaviva has been direct about it, referring to an AI simulation of a human being as “a commodified delusion.” I’ve never forgotten that phrase. It is harsh, but not in the same way that harsh things can be wrong.
Additionally, there is the memory issue, which receives insufficient attention. According to criminal psychologist Julia Shaw, who studies false memories, AI is “a perfect false memory machine,” and the research appears to support her claim. When people see photos of their own past that have been altered by AI, they frequently remember the altered version rather than the original. When you apply that to grief, the consequences quickly become uncomfortable. The deceased are unable to amend the record. Whatever the chatbot says eventually finds its way into the memories of the living.
I keep going back to my friend in the café, though. She is not gullible. She is an astute lawyer who recognizes that the voice on her phone is not her father. In that slightly weary tone people use after explaining themselves to someone else, she told me as much. She stated that she did not want him to return. She wanted a place to store the questions she was unable to ask. She got that, or something fairly close, from the app. I honestly couldn’t tell you if that qualifies as postponement or healing.
The manufacturers of these instruments discuss democratized care, comfort, and accessibility. The skeptics discuss manipulation, profit, and the gradual deterioration of human friction. As is often the case with technology that develops ahead of research, both sides are partially correct. It’s evident that grief, which was formerly one of the most personal human experiences, is evolving into a product category. It’s unclear if we’ll reflect on this experience with thankfulness, regret, or the peculiar emptiness that results from not fully understanding what has just transpired.
