It merely felt like I’d blacked out for a few minutes—meaning the transition to digital consciousness had been seamless. I mourned my deceased body a bit (coronary embolism), then got down to enjoying my new life—and old problems. My relationship with my grandkids was already just infrequent texting, so I doubt they noticed any difference. My son saw me twice a year at most; he now seemed equally disinterested in logging in. And my colleagues were somehow still too busy for pickleball, parcheesi, poker nights. I’m starting to think this whole investment in an afterlife was a waste of money.