My relationship with my iPhone has been tumultuous, heated, filled with adolescent passion and failure. I have killed two and a third suffered a brief illness and then died.
The loss of my first iPhone to toilet drowning was shocking. When the glass of my second iPhone shattered, I was ready to continue using it even though this meant significant blood loss. This phone met its fate in the form of a tile floor shortly after my mother passed away and my husband left for St. Louis. It was as if a lifeline had been cut. I did not become hysterical because I was beyond that point, resigned to shit happening.
Resigned to the fate of bad Karma when Apple sent me a new iPhone but sent a 16GB instead of a 32GB. After a week of sorting out what was a major issue for Apple, I had the proper iPhone in had and we quickly bonded. I clothed it in an Otterbox case to protect it from me. Our relationship was rich with apps and calls and information.
After a few months it all fell apart. My iPhone developed some sort of terminal dementia. Apple support suggested replacing the SIM card. When neither the phone nor iTunes could recognize the SIM card, as if it were a faded memory, I did just that. But it could not recognize the new card either. Dementia causing loss off old memories and refusing to allow the formation of new ones.
With sorrow, I called Apple support and arranged for a replacement. Frighteningly, it was a Friday before the Memorial Day weekend so I found myself alone, without my extraordinary companion for days. I do wish I did not care for my iPhone so very much. It is an alarm clock. Time and temperature. Scrabble player. Book when I lost my Kindle cable. Grocery list and to do list. Weight tracker. Entertainer. Reminder. Connector.
I am lost without it.