It’s been eight years this time. But it was just as hard to say goodbye as the last time I posted this.

This week I mourned the loss of my closest confidant.

We’ve been together for over six eight years. When the Hub was gone, I’d sometimes wake up to see that my old friend had been in bed with me all night. (Occasionally with some drool where I’d fallen asleep.) He kept me company in Russia, India, Australia, across the US and Canada, and in many of the countries of Europe.

And I’d poured out my heart to him. He knew every one of my secrets, held every book I’d ever written, every thought I’d recorded over the past six years. Lately, though, he hasn’t been himself. He’s been slowing down, occasionally forgetting things. But then, so have I.

Then came the morning last week when I noticed his peripherals weren’t responding.

I knew he wouldn’t want me to prolong his agony, but he held it together long enough for one last backup. The expert at the Genius Bar shook his head, and closed my old friend’s cover for the last time.

I left the store with his replacement, feeling guilty and excited. My old friend and I had been together for so long. Was I ready for a new relationship already? Or would this just be a rebound fling? At home, I connected the peripherals, turned on the new guy, and stood back. He hummed gently, sucked in the backup data, and lit up the monitor, while I held my breath. Would we get along? Would he be good in bed?

“Restore from backup?”

It was scary, but I clicked yes. More humming.

Then, before my eyes, my old friend rose from the dead. He’s back—bigger, stronger, faster, with a shiny unmarked face and more memory. He did not go gently into that dark place with no 1s and 0s. Nope, he’s got a much bigger drive and he’s ready to party. And… I hope this doesn’t make me sound shallow, but it’s true. Size matters. My New Old Friend is just so big…and powerful.

I wish that worked for people too.

 

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Digression: These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.

As I waited for the funeral rites to conclude for my old friend (who turned out to be worth a surprising amount as a trade-in despite his eight years of service which, in computer years, made him at least old enough to merit a birthday message from the King), I headed out into the mall.

To my amazement, the mall was packed with people waiting in queues. I asked what was going on, and was told it was Star Wars Day at the Legos store. After all, who wouldn’t want to be the first to drop £250 on the 2970 pieces they could assemble into Jango Fett’s Firespray-Class Starship?

As a veteran parent, I think of Legos as the evil spiky foot traps waiting to torture innocent mamas stumbling across the playroom in the middle of the night. But this crowd was surprisingly lacking in children as they queued under the watchful gaze of well-armed Stormtroopers. One white-armored figure used his blaster to wave me toward the end of the queue, but I shook my head. “These aren’t the droids I’m looking for.”

He nodded. “May the 4th be with you.”