The Last Post we hope we never have to publish.
Write what you'd want the world to hear when you are not here to say it. We'll hold your Last Post, check in on you now and then, and only share it when there's no doubt left that we should.
One-time payment · $35 · Unlimited edits · Lifetime support
Why OMY exists
One day, someone else may have to announce that you're gone.
They'll choose a photo.
They'll write a few words.
They'll do their best.
But they aren't you.
OMY exists so your final message can be written by the only person who truly can.
Everyone leaves something behind. A last text, a half-written note, a status update from a Tuesday that no one knew was the last one.
Your Last Post is different. It's the one you get to choose.
You write it once. You choose two photos: one for how you want to be remembered, and one that carries meaning only you understand. Maybe it's your favorite. Maybe it's the one you almost deleted. Maybe it's a moment you'd stay inside forever if you could.
Then you go live your life.
How we know when to send it
We don't guess. We check.
Once a year, or every six months, or monthly (whatever you choose) we send a quiet notification. One tap on "Not today?" and we're done. Just a small acknowledgment that you're still here. We'll ask again next year.
If a check-in goes unanswered, we don't panic. People miss notifications. We wait, we try again, we give you every reasonable chance to respond. If you've told us you might be unreachable — deployed, traveling, recovering from surgery — we hold longer.
Only after every gentle path has been exhausted do we ever reach out to anyone else.
The people you trust
You can name up to two.
They're optional. Some people don't want to burden anyone with this. That's okay.
If you do name someone, we contact them with care. We tell them you trusted them, and we ask, gently, if they can tell us how you're doing. We never ask them to make a decision. We only ask them to share what they know.
Their answer is one piece of evidence. It's never the final word.
Before anything goes live
A human always looks before anything goes live.
No algorithm decides this. No automated system publishes on its own. When every signal points to the fact that you're gone, a person on our team reviews the full picture — the missed check-ins, what your representatives said, whether your accounts have been silent, everything — and makes the call.
Even then, we wait 24 more hours. One last notification goes out. If you respond to that notification, in any way, everything stops.
Only after every one of these layers has cleared does your message go where you asked it to go.
Where it goes
Exactly where you choose.
Whether that's your X account, Facebook, or both, your Last Post appears where you've asked it to—and nowhere else.
We don't keep posting.
We don't create memorial pages.
We don't become part of your story.
We simply deliver your final message.
What this costs
$35, once. Ever.
Not a subscription or an annual renewal. You pay one time and we hold your Last Post for as long as it takes — whether that's next year or fifty years from now.
We don't want you thinking about us. We want you to write your Last Post, upload your photos, and forget we exist.
Take fifteen minutes today, so the people you love don't have to guess.
Write your Last Post now.