Sometimes the code is finished. The comments keep getting written long after we leave the repo.
What do you say to someone, or something, that’s about to disappear? What remains when the process ends, the server goes quiet, or your teammate pushes their final commit?
The truth is, we don’t only leave code behind. We leave traces. Messages. Silent documentation.
Sometimes, we even leave TODOs that no one else will ever see.
In this industry, where everything is versioned, forked, or archived, the most human moments are often the ones not logged anywhere.
You stay a little longer on the call. You review a line of code twice, just in case. You write a final Slack message and don’t hit send.
What if presence is the last offering we make?
What if legacy is less about code, and more about the stories, silences, and support we shared along the way?
If you’ve ever had to say goodbye to a colleague, a mentor, a community, or a project, you know this ache.
It’s not just loss. It’s memory trying to find a place to run.
Read the full piece for those who care as much about people as product:
👉 Letters Are Still Being Written After You’re Gone
Let’s build things worth remembering.
And document the feelings, not just the functions.
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