Requiem for a Nexus 4

My beloved Nexus 4; the first smart phone I ever owned.  Was it a dream to hope that it would be my last?  How I loved your blue case (bought by my husband for less than $10 on Amazon).  How neatly you fit into my (small) palm.  Your interface so pleasing to my eye.  The many apps that I kept on you; how comforting. I wanted to hold you in my pocket (or in my purse) for an eternity.  But it was not to be.

When we got together, I was just entering the "smart" world.  I may have been mocked by those who were jealous of my pink flip one, but I loved her.  However, the world told me I must move on and so I did with you.  Suddenly I was able to text and access my mail.  Then there was Facebook and Instagram.  I became addicted to you as I found that I could accurately map my daily walks (for the most part; there were those days when the app went "wonky" and all of a sudden it said that I walked a mile in 7 minutes which will NEVER be a reality for me.)  I could listen to local radio and get music AND news too while walking in the pre-dawn light.

I endless snapped photos until your photo app started acting wonky.  No worries...there were other apps out there and I kept snapping away.  And posting to Instagram and Facebook.  You let me share so many precious moments with the world.  (Along with plenty of not so precious ones too.)

I'd known your days were coming to a close.  You'd had your hiccups before, but they were getting worse.  I didn't want to admit it.  You didn't hold a charge for long.  I'd keep you plugged in and charging as much as possible.  When I went out for walks and used the walk app and radio app, by the time I got home you'd be depleted and when I'd save my walk, you'd shut down, even though you  had enough charge left.  You'd optimize and crash.  You'd update at inappropriate times.  Or you wouldn't update at all.  You frustrated me, yet loved you and didn't want to let you go.  (Or spend insane amounts of money on getting a replacement.  I'm old; I believe that items should last more than a year or two.  I still believe in repair and not replace.  I don't have disposable income and even if I did, I can't imagine replacing a phone or other item every year or even every other year.  What happened to quality and pride of workmanship?)

Then there was the bulge.  I thought it was the case.  I couldn't fathom that there might be something seriously wrong with you.  Surely the blue case had warped or broken.  After all, it was only plastic and you were so much more.

But no, it was you.  After crashing at noon on Sunday when I was trying to call home to confirm the number of bagels I should pick up, you got stuck in an endless loop of reboot.  Circles circling; first slowly and then faster, but never getting anywhere.

My trusty technician (aka my husband) pulled you out of your case and saw the bulge.  It was clear that your time had come.  There would be no waiting for the new Nexus to come out in a week or so.  (Not that I would be willing to pay the price that is being asked.)  You had to be replaced.

So now on my desk sits a Samsung in a pretty pink case.  When it comes to cell phones, it was pretty cheap.  It's not the most up to date, but then again neither were you.  Its interface isn't what yours was.  I have to get used to a larger size and not being able to have the many apps that you could handle in your prime, and this new pink "thing" cannot.

I have a new smart phone, but will it ever truly be a replacement for you my beloved blue cased Nexus 4?  We had just a little over 3 years together.  But they were three memorable years. The calls, the texts, the photos and the social media; you captured them all and brought them to me.  That is when you weren't crashing, but I'd prefer not to think of the end of your life, but when you were in your prime.  Those selfie videos of me ice skating and not falling on my behind.  (Thankfully that one time was NOT captured.)  The vacation photos will remind me of all the fun times we had. The first text I received from my son (and all the emojis that followed).  Those memories cannot be replaced by a Samsung On5 with a pink case.

Farewell Nexus 4!  May you rest in peace (pieces?) in a drawer somewhere with all of your data carefully removed.  (Thanks honey!)  I will certainly stubble upon you now and then when looking for something else that I have thoughtlessly shoved in a drawer.  And when I look at you, I will remember all of the good times we had and forget all the frustrations you gave.  Farewell Nexus 4, farewell.