ODE TO DELILAH for it was this week, I laid her to rest.
She will be remembered for her sleek grey body and underwhelming sense of purpose.
She never asked for much during our time together, just to keep things light (mostly off her desktop) and a proper goodbye (or shut down) at the end of the day.
Delilah, my seasoned Dell laptop bit the dust this week, leaving me just a little broken-hearted. OK---maybe devastated is the right term.
Delilah's passing into computer heaven, began on a morning just like any other. As per usual, we met over coffee, only this particular morning, she rejected all entry.
She was the best friend I never knew I had.
Delilah had been my trusted ally through several chapters of life. Her keys had become my home over more than four years together, endorsing my most dynamic moments as a journalist and keeping the fire burning on the longest of work nights. Her glow had followed me to many a coffee shop and enabled my creativity to be mobile.
At first sign of her fatal end, I was barely phased. It was morning. I'm not much of a morning person, and the same is true for Delilah. Both our processors tend to run slow after a long night of rebooting.
I am always patient however, as I understand the hardship in waking up and poor Delilah has to do it without coffee. It was only the third or fourth attempt of hitting her power button, that I began to sweat.
I then took Delilah to see my dad. As a Computer Medic, he has made this type of injury his life work, at least professionally. Before he was retired and grew his hair long and joined a band, he had owned a computer networking and operational repair business for two decades. Because most of his work was in doctor’s offices, he named the company, Computer Medic.
Delilah was sent to the operation table. He worked diligently for hours. I paced back and fourth, like the worried mother I was.
Finally he came out, somberly shaking his head. “We did everything we could,” he said. “Did you at least have a back up?” Denial entered the room and I suggested a software update, a second opinion, anything!
I began my descent into the second stage of grief--anger.
"Come on, Delilah get your shit together, we've been through way worse," I said out loud, now boldly talking to her lifeless computer screen. Our lives began to flash before my eyes. A memory of me accidentally dropping her on a cement parking lot, suddenly came to mind. She was younger then and survived that like a champ.
Memories of happier times began to fill my wounded heart.
There was a time I had spent hours editing an interview and she had decided to stop working. I had not done a most recent save and my heart stopped, thinking of the potential loss of work. Delilah, however, (the Thelma to my Louise) came through with flying colors. She not only saved my most previous work but rebooted with a more vigorous demeanor, running more efficiently for the rest of the evening.
I began to bargain, "if you come back to me, I promise to never shut you down without first going through the control menu."
Delilah decided to do me one last favor. Apparently my dad, had managed to open a secret entrance and it was now up to me to make the most of our last moments together.
I immediately went to work backing all the files that should have been backed up years ago. Diving into pictures I hadn't seen forever, and files I had long forgotten. Her belly telling the story of my life in pictures and my career in the myriad of written, audio and video interview files.
Tears began to lick my cheeks and I felt so unbearably sad. I was on my own blast from the past. She was giving me one last trip down the memory lane.
Somewhere in the midst of her being the start and end to most of my days, offering the finest results to many of my search engine inquiries (she never judged my curious mind) or my social media distractions, we had grown rather close.
To the best friend I never knew I had, rest in peace. And to the external hard drive who now holds my entire digital life, I vow to be your best friend too.