A friend wrote me to apologize for being out of touch, but something tragic had befallen her. My mind raced ahead, contemplating a serious illness or accident. But Marilyn's explanation surprised me: "My hard disk died."

Her hard disk, not backed up for two years, contained e-mails from people all over the world, writing to share a joke, or just say hi. The support group she belonged to of people with the same medical problem she had--all their stories and words of encouragement.

She lost all her letters to them--an "extrovert's diary," is how Marilyn described it. "I never know how I feel until I tell someone else."

She lost her little black book, with the phone numbers, addresses and e-mail addresses she had compiled.

She lost all her downloads--articles and graphics and Napster bits, research items and bookmarks that can never be replaced.

She lost a lot of software. We don't get all our programs on CD-ROM any more. A lot of it is downloaded, and when the disk goes, the program, and the password and tech support address, go with it.

She lost a book project she had begun--about 100 pages of writing. It was a project near and near to her heart, a book about her parents. "I don't have the heart to start again from scratch."

She felt a little foolish saying that the hard disk loss was a giant emotional blow, but it was. All those bits floating on the glass surface really mattered to her. Well, not all of them, but a lot of them. She didn't lose her Web site, at least. A few of her favorite items were safe on her ISP's servers. Did Marilyn kick herself for not backing up? Don't ask. "I was so angry with myself. Half the time I was biting my lip. The rest of the time, I just cried."

Oh, my friend. I understand, I really do. One time, 15 years ago, a 5.25-inch floppy disk containing three chapters of a book I was writing--three chapters were all that would fit on it--became corrupted while I was working on it, and I lost 90 pages of writing. I was so crushed by the loss that my back gave out, and I spent two days on the living room couch, unable to move.

You know, we focus so much in the literature on issues of productivity and performance, we forget that computers have become vessels for our lives. A tremendous amount of meaning is stored in them, spinning around at 7200 rpm, like magnetic skaters on a lake of mirror glass. It's amazing the hard drive stays alive for even a minute, when you think about it, never mind two years. As the Bible says, ye know not the hour or the day. Of course this is a reminder to you all, to back up your data. Get a CD-R drive, and back it up on CDs--much easier than tape or Zip drives.

But first, let there be a moment for consolation. Hugs to Marilyn, and sorrow for her loss. And hugs to us all who have taken that hit, and felt the power go out of us.

Michael Finley also writes the monthly Diversionscolumn for ComputerUser magazine.