Friday, November 20, 2009

Mourning on Facebook


Who could have guessed that one of the best outcomes of the social networking phenom could have been it's ability to connect us with the past, the time when social networking happened at the bus stop or soccer field or on the plaza - and thus was somewhat limited in it's breadth of connection (but was perhaps better in its depth).

In the year and a half or so since I've been on Facebook (forced there by the organizing forces of my highschool reunion), I've been more and more of a believer (although I am hoping to author a Miss Manners web book of social networking and really hitting hard the parameters of oversharing). A huge part of becoming a believer came after losing a friend. I'm from a generation who goes to school in a place their parents didn't grow up, flying or driving long distances to visit relatives - and then we split, leaving for college somewhere else where we establish intimate friendships, leaving next for grad school or jobs or foreign travel, establishing pods of friends in each new place and then leaving them for something new. And this constant motion takes time - and we don't spend it staying connected although we meant to - which doesn't affect the space in our hearts that's occupied by those friendships. When a friend who wasn't a very close one but was very close to many with whom we are very close passed away, it was wonderful to be able to connect on Facebook, and to hear stories, see pictures, share grief or memories.

This week a friend who was one of my closest in highschool died unexpectedly. My highschool class was small and that created an intimacy that was both positive and negative - but extremely familial. Another highschool friend who wasn't really friends with this guy was nonetheless one who got the ball rolling on starting a blog of remembrances about him, motivated by that familial feeling.

"The fact of the matter is this - Travis and I were not close, but you spend 4-6 years with everyone and a death hits you between the eyes because we were sorta like siblings, all of us, with rivalries and fights and good memories and a lot of fine support that we forget about it until we stop and think about it.... despite all the BS of high school, we, at the Prep school, were indeed like family, and I feel as if I have lost a brother, (my own brothers and I are not that close, so you can see where I get this idea ;-) I am 39 - I imagine so are all of you or thereabouts - and with 40 looming large on the horizon as some milestone of uncertainty - at least for me - the idea that someone as robust and clear-headed as that fellow (compared to myself) is dead was just a bit of a shocker.

In all honesty, I want to honor his death and his life in some way, but I am just not close enough to him to offer any funny anecdotes or touching tales. All I know is this - for four fucking years I saw this guy every day and he was my peer, even if he wasn't my pal, and I am sad for him and his family."

Before Facebook it was tough to stay in touch with someone who used to be a huge part of your life and isn't anymore, but who hasn't been excised from your heart. I was shocked at how special it was to go to my highschool reunion and to remember who I was then - how that person led me to be this person. It was actually nice to go back and revisit that, to have the ability to be kinder to that person I was then, more forgiving, more understanding, and then to offer the same to those I knew back then. For the grieving, it allows those closest to them to sort through the grief and remembrances in their own time and from a lot more people. We can't go to every funeral because we know too many people from to many places, but we can go online and be with mourners from all over the world and feel connected.

I'm so grateful to be able to keep in touch this way - to see what old friends' kids look like, to hear the joys and trials, to celebrate and mourn while still saving the big chunks of time and emotional energy for those friends and relationships that are in the here and now.