Most individuals carry detailed mental models of what they want to happen after they die, but they rarely communicate these wishes to the people who will ultimately be responsible for honoring them.

Across interviews and scenarios, participants revealed a striking paradox:

• They have clear internal ideas about their end-of-life wishes

• They assume loved ones “already know”

• They avoid initiating conversations because of discomfort or cultural taboo

This silence creates avoidable turmoil. People expect their values to “be understood,” but never articulate them.

This is the emotional bottleneck:

People are ready to talk about death in theory, but unprepared to talk about it with the people who matter.

Result:
Loved ones are forced into emotional decision-making at the worst possible time, navigating ambiguity instead of honoring clarity.

Representative Quotes

P4: “My grandma had everything organized… it made everything less stressful.”
P4: “We share grief together, but never the deeper conversations about what it all means.”
P3: “Talking to my parents means they have to admit they’re going to die. That's the hardest part.”

End-of-life planning is not self-oriented; it is relational. People want to remove logistical, financial, and emotional burden from the people they love.

Participants rarely framed planning as “my death plan.”
They framed it as:

• “How do I make this easier on them?”

• “How do I spare them confusion?”

• “How do I leave them in a good place?”

This protective instinct often becomes the only motivator strong enough to overcome avoidance.

But:
Most people don’t know what “planning” includes — funeral logistics, disposition choices, digital accounts, financial playbooks — so intentions rarely translate into action.

Representative Quotes

P7: “This is the playbook of how to get by if I’m gone. I just don’t want her to struggle.”
P2: “I’d immediately think about the costs — I know what a strain it puts on the people left behind.”
E4: “Talking early allows families to understand the meaning behind the legacy.”

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more.Participants defined their digital presence as “personal archives,” but experts and bereaved individuals defined it as a shared emotional ecosystem.

This mismatch is profound.

Most people believe:

• Their accounts are “just for them”

• Their data has meaning only during their lifetime

• Deletion or neglect affects no one else

But loved ones see:

• Photos as anchors of memory

• Posts as shared history

• Feeds as a form of presence

• Social profiles as living memorials

This relational layer of digital identity is invisible to users but unavoidable for survivors.

Representative Quotes

P1: “They’ve served their purpose for me — if they go away, that’s fine.”
E5: “The post-mortem paradox: the person who can act doesn’t care, and the people who care can’t act.”

Participants articulated three broad preferences for their digital remains—delete everything, leave everything, or have someone steward their accounts—but none understood how these choices affect their grieving connections.

Key tensions emerged:

• Notifications can retraumatize

• Data loss can worsen grief

• Lack of access causes logistical nightmares

• Leaving everything “as is” can create emotional stagnation

Participants thought about control, but not about impact.

This gap produces emotional distress for survivors who must navigate:

• Locked accounts

• Platform support systems that break under stress

• Unplanned digital traces that feel either overwhelming or insufficient

Representative Quotes

E2: “A Facebook profile can keep hurting people through notifications they can’t control.”
P3: “We were grieving and trying to fight with platform support at the same time.”

Participants overwhelmingly wanted to pass down a curated set of memories—not their entire digital footprint—because only a small portion of their data holds emotional weight.

Across interviews:

• Photos emerged as the primary form of meaningful digital memory

• People wanted their “best stories,” not their “entire archive”

• They lacked tools to curate meaning from volume

• They wanted tangible formats (prints, books) despite living digitally

The real legacy isn’t data — it’s discernment.

Representative Quotes

P10: “Photos are the most meaningful thing. That’s how people remember your face.”
P8: “My blog, my photos… they’re personal. That’s what I’d want preserved.”
P12: “30–100 photos — the ones that matter. But they’re scattered everywhere.”

Participants expressed awareness (“I should back up my phone”), but lacked understanding of settings, tools, or why any of it matters for legacy.

This creates a high-stakes dependency:

• No backups means no memories

• No password sharing means no access

• No designated contacts means no continuity

People mentally link backup to device failure, not death.
Their systems are built for convenience, not continuity.

Representative Quotes

P5: “I have a backup, but no one has access if I die.”
P2: “I only think about backup when my phone nags me.”

Across participants, there was a deep desire for valued possessions—both physical and digital—to continue bringing joy to someone else. But without a trigger event or system, this desire remains aspirational.

Reasons for inaction include:

• Youth (“I’ll do it later”)

• Good health (“I’m not old enough to think about this”)

• No obvious recipient

• No structured prompt

• No emotional urgency

This creates the “Sentimental Bottleneck”:
People know what matters to them, but lack a framework that turns intention into transfer.

Representative Quotes

P1: “I want my film equipment to go to someone who actually enjoys it… I just haven’t planned anything.”
P7: “My fishing gear… that’s my religion. I want someone to get that same peace.”
P4: “I’d donate my guitars… I just haven’t figured out where.”