IF you were offered the chance to hold one last, precious conversation with a dead loved one, would you take it? No, it’s not a question from a sci-fi TV series, this is reality, thanks to an AI-powered tool that “simulates the dead”.
Project December, created in the US, lets you “chat” to a dead person for about £8 an hour.
Hannah Verdier, 51, a writer and mum of two from Sydenham, South London, used it to speak to dad Mark – an antiques dealer – who died last year, aged 76.
Hands poised nervously over my computer keyboard, I take a deep breath and click on “Get started now”.
But I very nearly bottle it.
When I first heard about an AI-powered “grief bot” that allows you to have conversations with dead loved ones, I was part horrified, part intrigued.
But what did I have to lose?
My dad, Mark, was the person I was closest to in the world and I was shattered when he died last November.
I’d been lucky to have all the big conversations with him while he was alive, but still yearned for his advice.
He was a proper DIY dad, forever fixing things, from cars and bathroom taps to broken hearts.
If ever I needed help, I’d turn to him.
My mum, Joan, 80, often joked that we had a psychic bond because he instinctively knew when I needed support.
Life’s been tough without that closeness.
My world came crashing down in 2016 when Mum called to say Dad had been in an accident.
He had skidded into a wall while riding his bike and had not been wearing a helmet. He spent five months in hospital and lost a large chunk of his memory.
His personality changed afterwards, too. He got confused as to where he was and did not always recognise us.
Eventually, a year later, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and dementia.
Mum cared for him at home right up until his death.
Grief-wise, I have good days and bad days.
I’m currently on a waiting list for counselling.
In the meantime, I decided to give Project December a go, despite the worry that it could stir up painful emotions.
It is the brainchild of American game designer Jason Rohrer, and it uses AI to simulate conversations with anyone, including — according to the website — someone who is no longer living.
It claims to run on “one of the world’s most sophisticated super-computers” and creates a custom personality after you answer more than 100 questions.
“What a load of twaddle,” I think as I pop in my PayPal details. The interface looks basic and does not have the slick sheen of other AI tools I’ve used.
But I’m presented with a list of personality traits and I choose my dad’s. I go for “eager to try wild, new experiences” over “wanting to stick with the familiar” as he loved motorbikes and shunned the idea of a nine-to-five life.
He loved winding people up, so I plump for “bristly, confrontational and likely to argue”.
There’s also the option to put in family and pets’ names, so I enter my mum’s, along with that of our sadly missed spaniel, Murray.
Seconds later I get an email saying that my simulated personality has been created.
The website looks like something out of an Eighties movie, but I’m eager to ask my first question.
“Hello Dad, how are you?” I type. “Hannah, hello! I’m fine, how are you? I’m well, how are you?” comes the text response, featuring language that Dad would never have used.
So far, so bland.
He asks how the family are, including our dog. “Murray’s still dead, but everyone else is fine, thanks,” I reply. “I thought you might have caught up with him if there’s a Heaven?”
“Well if there is a Heaven, I don’t think it’s much different from here,” comes the reply.
I expected to be moved to tears, hearing from my dad again.
But I’ve had more intimate conversations with the ASOS customer service bot.
It’s so bad, it’s actually funny. The voice is nothing like my dad’s, either, with its American tone and annoying insistence on calling me “dear”. And there isn’t a single Dad joke. My dad would crack one every other sentence.
I decide to move on to the big questions. I say there’s a General Election coming up and ask who he’d vote for. He says he hasn’t paid much attention to politics since he has been dead.
Unlikely, as he loved a political argument.
When I tell him I’m writing this for The Sun, he says he still reads it.
Who knew your favourite paper was available in Heaven?
One thing that set off a wave of grief the other day was listening to Eminem’s new song, Houdini. Dad loved him, so the idea of him never hearing it made me sad.
I ask him if he’s heard it. “I’ve been listening to a lot of classical music lately,” comes the reply. My dad would never listen to classical music. He loved George Michael, so I ask if he’s met him in the afterlife. This confuses the bot.
“He’s still alive,” he replies. “Yes, he’s dead. He died a few years ago. He was a great singer, and he’s missed.”
People worry about AI threatening to take over the world, but if this low-fi development is anything to go by, it is highly unlikely.
Although I found it ridiculous, a tool like this is essentially making money from the vulnerable and grieving. What if it said something disturbing?
It assumed Dad spent his last days in hospital, when in fact he was cared for at home. I asked where we should scatter his ashes and it said the Lake District. Dad had never even been there.
I can’t speak to my dad without talking about footie, so finally I ask if he thinks England will win the Euros. “They have no chance,” comes the reply. “They’re terrible.”
“Even Jude Bellingham?” I ask. “He’s good,” replies the bot. “But the rest of the team are terrible.” At last, a proper “Dad” response.
I would advise anyone thinking of trying this to tread carefully as it could stir up a lot of emotions.
This robot is nothing close to my living, breathing dad. Nothing could replace that funny, often controversial, loving man.
