Today, my iPhone came to the end of its life. I flew through the stages of grief.
Denial: I re-booted it four times.
Anger: I mumbled an expletive or two while I waited for the Apple symbol to re-appear on the face of the phone.
Bargaining: I tried to remember when the contract on my phone expired and desperately hoped whatever was wrong with it was fixable enough to get me through the end of the contract with my service provider.
Depression: I threw the phone into my purse and refused to look at it. It made a sad little noise as it struck the sleek black box that housed the dormant iPhone 5 inside. I flinched in guilt.
Finally, acceptance: I thought about how long I’ve had my phone. It was a first generation. You know, the days when iPhones cost $600 — long before Siris and clouds and LTEs and iOSs. It was a great phone. It had had a good, long life.
Still, shutting it down for the last time was difficult. My phone’s life was action-packed. In its five years, it watched me finish law school, get married, acquire a nephew and niece, turn thirty, try several cases, and watched my slow procession into the gallows of practicing law.
“Reset to original factory settings?” No, thanks.
Life’s been too good.