Mom had a blog and a collection of around 80,000 digital photographs. After she died, I didn't have any good options for keeping any of it up. I mean yeah, she was my mother, but $120 a year in perpetuity to preserve her life's work? Not to mention various tech support providers were entirely unhelpful when I contacted them about transferring all her data to accounts I controlled.
I tried ripping a mirror of all that stuff to a local archive, but it proved to be a major challenge to grab full sized copies of all the images, and every single interconnected thing, without sucking in half the damn internet. My script blew out a 500 GB hard disk, and got my bandwidth throttled for a month, and still missed most of what I was trying to capture.
I had her original hard disk with the raw image files, and decided to settle for that. I had no record of which ones she hand picked, and no rhyme or reason to tens of thousands of files with random date-based names. I wanted to do a coffee table book or something--anything, really--but I never figured out what to do with any of that, and never got around to doing anything with it at all.
When the rent came due on the online stuff, I threw up my hands and pulled the plug on everything. I set the hard drive aside to do something with one of these days, but I lost track of which identical old drive was which, and accidentally formatted that one.
My mother was a very depressed, unhappy woman who drank herself to an early death. In the end, one of the things she lamented about most loudly was the fact that her life's work was nothing more than pixels. In a tragic turn of irony, she was exactly right about that. It fell on me to preserve her legacy, and I totally fucked it all up, and it's all gone. Poof. Literally the only thing I have to remind me that my mother used to exist is a print-out of one of her last emails, where she was telling some guy she knew what an asshole I am.
I guess she was right about that too. I fucked it all up, and what can I do about it now? Nothing.