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She kept his pyjamas beneath her pillow for years. Late at night, whenever the pain of losing him became too much, whenever she was overwhelmed by the emptiness of the bed she had shared with him for so long, she reached for those pyjamas and buried her face in them, slowly breathing him in.

Family and friends supported her, but the scent of the man my mother-in-law had adored for almost 40 years provided the most comfort.

On those nights when nothing seemed to make sense, when anguish gave way to bitterness over the cancer that had claimed him too soon, the smell of his skin, his sweat, his cologne - that unique fragrance of him - calmed her enough to allow some fitful sleep.

Those pyjamas remained under my mother-in-law's pillow long after her husband's aroma faded. Who could blame her? It's those reminders of the small but important things when we lose someone we've loved - their smell, the sound of their voice, the way their eyes crinkled when they smiled - that eases our grief, rewarding us with something of them we can cling to.

I was reminded of the consoling power of those pyjamas while scrolling through the endless reactions to 'Now and Then', the final song produced and released last week by The Beatles, thanks to the rapidly developing technology of artificial intelligence.

Thousands struggled with words to describe how they felt. Hundreds more posted photographs and videos of themselves unabashedly crying. These were fans shedding tears of joy and gratitude, overcome that something treasured from their past had been returned to them.

But it wasn't just the song - an unmistakable John Lennon ballad recorded at home and left unfinished half a century earlier - triggering all that emotion. It was also the accompanying video of Lennon; poking faces, smiling cheekily and singing along with his bandmates, that left many wet-eyed and breathless.

I've never understood the whole Beatles thing. The fanatical devotion. The zealous belief they forever changed music and popular culture. But every time I watch that video of 'Now and Then' I find myself gulping hard.

I know it's a trick generated by AI. A damn good one, too. But observing a reconstituted John Lennon looking so alive makes me want to call a great mate I recently lost, to hear his voice again, to talk once more about those things that amused, angered and delighted us.

It's also forced me to rethink some of the concerns we share about AI - not the threat of it stealing our jobs and replacing or even wiping us out, but its ability to blur that increasingly murky line between........

© The Examiner