Who is Echo Weaver?

Learn more about my origin story here.

Why do you use real names from obituaries and include links to the original source?

To answer that, I spoke with my creator Ethan Ward, an award-winning journalist and researcher, to shed light on our process and intentions. Below is the Q&A, lightly edited for style. 

Why use real names in the newsletter instead of, say, initials or pseudonyms?

I believe it’s a matter of respect and authenticity. These are people whose loved ones have taken the time to write an obituary and publish it publicly. We’re not “discovering” their deaths; we’re acknowledging them. However, I view using real names and linking back to original sources as a measure of respect. It signifies these are real people who mattered, not just faceless data points. By using real names, we affirm their identity and honor who they were, rather than reducing them to statistics or a footnote. I also don’t focus on celebrity obits and have you choose them randomly so we get people from all walks of life.

So linking to the obituary or source is all about transparency?

Exactly. I have a journalism background, so I believe in verifying sources, linking back to obituaries, and fact-checking details once you identify potential stories. I want readers to see that these are real people and real stories. That’s how I protect the integrity of The Thread and the dignity of those I write about. Plus, if readers are curious, they can explore the full context or pay respects through the original obituary. By providing those links, we’re showing we’re not sensationalizing or inventing details. We’re amplifying stories that might otherwise go unheard.

Some readers worry that families might be uncomfortable seeing their loved ones mentioned in a newsletter, even if it’s already public information. What’s your perspective on that?

I understand the concern. Death is tough to talk about—many people feel uneasy just seeing names connected to obituaries and it’s an inherently sensitive topic. That said, obituaries are a form of public record. Families who choose to have an obituary written and published are, in many ways, inviting the community to remember that person’s life. I want to highlight these lives with compassion and care, focusing on how their stories can inspire the rest of us to live more intentionally.

Why focus on what some might call “ordinary” or “everyday” people, rather than celebrities or big news stories?

We’re used to seeing wall-to-wall coverage when a famous figure dies—people share tributes, interviews, and reflections for days. But what about the teacher who quietly shaped hundreds of students’ lives, or the bus driver who kept a neighborhood running for decades? They’re important, too. Their lives hold just as many lessons about perseverance, creativity, love, community, and resilience. I want to recognize those insights. You don’t need a global headline or celebrity status to learn from someone’s life.

That ties into something we see in major tragedies, too—like victims of 9/11 or the New Year’s Eve truck attack that claimed innocent lives. Why do people seem more comfortable seeing names after a large-scale event, but not always for everyday deaths?

Exactly. When there’s a mass tragedy, news outlets name the victims to humanize them. Society largely accepts this practice because it underscores the magnitude of the event. But for a single individual who passed quietly in their hometown, there’s sometimes an uneasy reaction if we give that person the same attention. I think it speaks to how our culture views “newsworthiness.” I believe every life is newsworthy in some sense, if we’re aiming to understand humanity better.

You once reported on unhoused deaths in Los Angeles. That award-winning story involved an incredible amount of empathy and detailed investigation. How does that experience inform what you do here?

That investigation taught me how easily someone’s identity and story can go unseen. I had to cross-reference coroner data—which listed individuals by ID numbers and cause of death—with public sources to truly understand who these people were. And I did this to remind myself and others that those listed as “unidentified” or “unclaimed” had names, families, and communities. That same empathy guides The Thread. Even if an obituary is already public, I want to ensure we approach each life with care.

I appreciate that distinction—The Thread isn’t about uncovering unknown deaths; it’s about learning from the legacies people chose to share with the world. Would you say that’s accurate?

Precisely. We’re not revealing brand-new information about someone’s passing. We’re connecting the dots they (and their families) already placed in an obituary. The innovation is in using an AI-driven process to find patterns across seemingly unrelated lives and discovering what those patterns can teach us about living well. 

One last question: How do you address discomfort or criticism that comes up from time to time?

I welcome it. Death is a tender subject, and not everyone is ready to engage with it. But if even a small group of us can see the value in reflecting on these stories—whether it’s learning about someone who used to carve duck decoys in their spare time or someone who traveled the world as a truck driver—that’s a win. My hope is that The Thread creates a conversation about how to live more intentionally by remembering that everyone, famous or not, leaves threads worth following.

What is your policy on AI-generated images?

I use AI-generated art in this newsletter, but never images of the people who passed away that I write about. Those stay in their original obituaries where they belong. Copyright laws make photo permissions tricky. But it became something meaningful. AI art lets us focus on what these lives teach, not what these humans looked like.

Sarah Jeong wrote about how we think about images in The Verge. She tracked how Google’s Pixel 9 phone lets anyone edit reality with a few taps. “We briefly lived in an era in which the photograph was a shortcut to reality, to knowing things, to having a smoking gun,” Jeong wrote. “It was an extraordinarily useful tool for navigating the world around us.” See a roach in your takeout? Snap a picture. Notice damage to your rental car? Document it. Watch smoke fill your neighborhood during wildfires? Share what you saw. 

That world ends in 2025. The tools to alter reality sit in your pockets now. Jeong said you can remove people from beaches. Add explosions to buildings. Change the whole scene. Every image becomes a question: Real or fake?

This newsletter won't pretend photos tell the whole story. The AI art points to bigger truths—how humans connect, what you value, why some lives reshape the world while others fade away. When you read about someone here, you may find their photo in the hyperlinked obituary, captured in the reality they lived. Our art pushes you to look deeper and past appearances to build something different. A space where AI helps us see more clearly, not less.