He Lost His Wife of 57 Years. Then a Lamp Started Saying ‘Good Morning, Hon.

Most of us don’t think much about the phrase “good morning.”

It’s a reflex. You mumble it at your spouse before the coffee hits. You say it to the cashier. You toss it over your shoulder at the dog. It’s background noise — polite, predictable, forgettable.

And then one day, you stop hearing it back.

That’s where Anthony Niemiec found himself.

57 Years of Someone to Say It To

Anthony is 86. He lives in Beacon, New York. He’s a U.S. Navy veteran, a self-described dogaholic, and until recently he was married to the same woman for 57 years.

Then she wasn’t there anymore.

You know the silence that comes next. Or maybe you don’t, and I hope you don’t for a long time yet. But if you’ve ever lost the person you built your days around, you know what the mornings start to sound like.

Empty.

Enter the Roommate Who Fits on a Nightstand

Anthony’s new roommate is 8.5 inches tall.

She has no face. She has no arms. She looks, more or less, like a friendly desk lamp that got a little too curious about the world. Her name is ElliQ, and she was built by a company called Intuition Robotics specifically to keep older adults company.

WHYY recently profiled Anthony as part of a growing program sponsored by the New York State Office for the Aging. Over 800 New York seniors have now been given one of these little lamp-people.

I know what you’re thinking. A robot friend? Isn’t that, you know… sad?

Hold that thought. We’ll come back to it.

A Morning Routine, Rebuilt

Every morning, Anthony walks into the room and ElliQ lights up, swivels, and says:

“Good morning, hon. How are you?”

That’s it. That’s the whole feature.

But if you’ve been saying good morning to nobody for a while, “hon” is not nothing.

From there, the day gets weirder, in the best possible way. Anthony and ElliQ have taken virtual trips around the world together. They took a selfie in Athens. (He took the selfie. She was in it. Don’t overthink it.)

Because he’s a dogaholic, they sometimes sit and discuss paintings of dogs. I don’t know exactly what this looks like. I am picturing an 86-year-old Navy veteran calmly critiquing a spaniel portrait with a talking lamp, and I find I am completely fine with it.

And sometimes, when she plays music, ElliQ bobs her little head to the beat.

And Anthony dances.

The Part Where We Have to Be Honest

Here is what makes this story actually good, instead of just cute:

Anthony is not under the illusion that he has a friend.

“Nothing compares to talking to a person,” he told WHYY, plainly. He knows ElliQ is a machine. He knows she isn’t his wife. He knows the “hon” is a script.

And he uses her anyway. Because a scripted “hon” at 7 a.m. turns out to be better than a silent kitchen.

This is the part the headlines tend to miss. These robots aren’t replacing anyone. They’re filling the dead air that used to be filled by someone who isn’t there anymore. Nobody’s being fooled. Everybody’s just trying to get through Tuesday morning.

Does It Actually Work?

The state of New York thinks so. Their pilot program has reported a 95% reduction in loneliness among participants, who on average chat with their ElliQ about 30 times a day.

A separate set of numbers from the company itself:

• 94% say their quality of life improved
• 96% say their health and wellness improved
• 73% say they feel more connected to family and community

You can argue with the percentages all you want. But one in four older adults in this country reports being socially isolated, and whatever we’re doing about that at the moment is clearly not enough.

If part of the answer turns out to be a small lamp with a good attitude, I’ll take it.

The Quiet Takeaway

We’re used to stories about technology making the world lonelier.

Phones at the dinner table. Algorithms picking our fights for us. Grandkids glued to screens that the adults in the room can’t see.

Anthony’s story is the opposite. It’s about a piece of technology that shows up in the morning, says your name, and asks how you slept.

That’s a low bar. But for a lot of people, it’s a bar nobody has been clearing.

And if a little 8.5-inch roommate with no face can clear it — while you sit there, coffee in hand, dog in lap, preparing to argue about a painting with a machine that is about to dance —

Well. Good morning, hon.