Online memorials are rented. They live on someone's server, behind someone's subscription, at the mercy of a company that may not be here in ten years. PermaWord writes the words into Bitcoin, where nothing can take them down.
Not permanent. Rented. From a company, on a server, for as long as someone keeps paying, and as long as that company still exists.
None of these are anyone's fault. They are simply what happens when remembrance is hosted by a business.
The person who set it up was the person who died, or the one grieving hardest. Two years later a card expires and the page goes dark.
Acquired, pivoted, closed. The family did nothing wrong and had no warning. The tribute you promised them simply no longer resolves.
The truest words ever said about a person are spoken aloud in one room, on one afternoon, and then they are gone. Nobody writes them down.
They feel powerless and want an act, not a service. Writing something permanent is one of the few things grief can actually accomplish.
Three additions to a service you already provide. Each one gives the family something to do, and something that keeps.
One line. What they always said. What the family will repeat for generations. Cut into the chain the way it would be cut into stone.
The words said at the service, or the obituary the family wrote together. Made permanent instead of spoken once and lost to the room.
What a widow wanted to say and could not. A message for a grandchild too young to remember. Sealed with a phrase, opened when they are ready.
A eulogy runs a few pages. A full record holds many times that at the flat price, so length is never the thing you have to worry about.
You have made a lasting-tribute promise before. This is the version of it that survives your firm, your host, and your own lifetime.
One payment. No account, no subscription, no card on file to expire. The family cannot lose it by forgetting.
Your firm may merge or close. So may ours. The record sits in Bitcoin, held by no company at all.
Every record is in a public ledger with its Bitcoin transaction. A grandchild in 2070 can confirm it themselves, without asking us.
Never as an upsell in the worst week of someone's life. Offer it the way you would offer a headstone: quietly, once, as a thing they may want, and only if they ask twice. If it feels like selling, it is the wrong moment.
Send us one line worth keeping and we will write it into Bitcoin for you, free. Watch the whole thing happen before it goes near a grieving family.
Professionals who offer PermaWord to families earn a commission on every record. We will explain it once you have seen the thing itself.