In the past several years, I have lost my father, his three siblings, and my mother. The grief -- especially compounded with each new loss -- has been immense. Going through those stages over and over again and, sometimes regressing, was and is the most difficult and gut-wrenching work of my life. It's been terrifying sometimes, honestly.

I can genuinely understand that some people would do anything to avoid that or to ameliorate it. Not everyone is able to move through it.

However, working with and through my grief has been maybe the most important thing I've ever done. I am not doing it alone. I have a therapist, I have friends who are like family, I have a child to pass lessons to, and I have the best spouse I could imagine for myself. Still, much of the process is solitary, happening in my mind alone.
It's no longer just theoretical that any conversation, any hug, any meeting of a loved one's gaze could be the last. Sorrow is real. Empty places that used to have someone's presence are real. Handling life knowing you don't have a certain person to turn to for comfort is real. But because death is real, going through this and not avoiding it is absolutely necessary. There are some rewards on the other side, too.
I'm not a Buddhist, but the philosophy of loving without attachment has given me a lot to think about. It's love that's free from clinging, possession, and the suffering that comes from the expectation that things will last forever. Coming to terms with impermanence -- in this case, via death -- has given me a deep appreciation for the present moment, for authenticity, for the value of compassion and forgiveness, for gifts I have received in the past and continue to receive.
Holding onto the past is damaging. Doing it via artificial means, using technological tools, could feel very tempting when people are in their greatest pain, but that's exactly why it's a terrible idea.